


Walls That Keep Us Safe

by yorsminroud



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ilvermorny, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9814049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yorsminroud/pseuds/yorsminroud
Summary: In which Percival is rescued and sent to Ilvermorny to work as a substitute teacher, which is obviously the most suitable job for a washed-up, beaten-down ex-prisoner of war. Meanwhile Credence Barebone is found, the Obscurus extracted, and the boy enrolled as a first-year at Ilvermorny.You can guess what happens next.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verticalized](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verticalized/gifts).



> This fic is being written for [Fandom Trumps Hate](http://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com), a fandom auction to benefit American charities in the wake of the American presidential election; and for the lovely [tarnished-silv3r](http://tarnished-silv3r.tumblr.com) (a.k.a. verticalized), whose generosity is unparalleled and who has been a pleasure to write for.

“We need to talk about the Rathinbone case,” Picquery said, and Percival knew he was in trouble.

He didn’t show it, though. Very composedly he folded his hands and raised his gaze to the crown molding in Picquery’s office. “What about it?”

“Honestly, Mr. Graves,” Picquery said. “I’ve just called you in for an informal chat. You needn’t look like I’ve threatened to murder your mother.”

“The last person who got called in here for an ‘informal chat’ got fired,” Percival reminded her darkly.

“If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times what Ms. Goldstein did. And if you’ll recall, I did reinstate her –”

“Only after she single-handedly rescued me from Gellert fucking Grindelwald, which is more than you did.”

If he’d guilted her, she didn’t show it. “– so you see you haven’t anything to worry about. Now. The Rathinbone case.”

“Went off without a hitch,” said Percival stoutly. His stomach was already tying itself in knots. “I was brilliant.”

“You bungled it,” Picquery said. As if he didn’t already know. Still, Percival insisted:

“I did not! How was I supposed to know he had a getaway plan? It might have happened to anyone.”

“His ‘getaway plan’ was Apparating. You didn’t even think to cast a tracer.”

“Did too,” Percival muttered. He’d just thought of it twenty-three minutes too late.

“It’s not just Rathinbone. I heard from Goldstein that you nearly burned her hair off by misdirecting a standard Incendio charm.”

Percival scowled. “Well, she can just forget about that raise then, can’t she.”

“And that’s not all. Since you seem so reluctant to discuss Rathinbone, let’s consider your other recent cases: You caused millions of dragots of needless property damage during the hunt for Lorcan Smith. You captured the wrong suspect in the Canal Street murders, and what should have been a routine pick-up turned into a bureaucratic nightmare. You –”

“They looked the same!”

“Mr. Graves. The suspect was a white man and you captured a female Japanese No-Maj tourist.”

“They looked the same,” Percival repeated.

Picquery leaned forward and put her whole face on her desk. “It’s been four months,” she said to the wood.

“Thirteen,” Percival said.

Picquery paused. Then she sat back up. “Thirteen,” she amended in a slightly softer voice, and with a slightly softer gaze. “Four since you returned to work, and nine since you... left. Thirteen. But it doesn’t matter. The fact is, you can’t do this job right now.”

“I thought you said you weren’t firing me,” said Percival bitterly.

“I’m not. You’re the best Auror I’ve got.” Picquery did not mention that they’d worked together for thirty years, that they’d risen through the ranks side-by-side, that they’d gone to school together, that despite all this she’d never once noticed he was gone. “Just... not right now.” She looked almost sad but no less immovable for it. “Now you’re a liability. So I’m going to send you away for a bit. To recuperate.”

No, no, no, no, no. Percival had just gotten used to being in his house again. He’d just stopped bolting when strangers tried to talk to him. He’d finally remembered how it felt to hold a wand and channel magic through it, and Picquery couldn’t send him away now, she _couldn’t_ –

Picquery handed him a sheet of paper. An offer letter, despite the fact that Percival hadn’t applied for any jobs, signed by the Principal of – “There’s an opening at Ilvermorny.”

“Oh _hell_ no,” Percival said. He racked his brain. There had to be a way out of this. A year ago he had been a fierce authority, a force to be reckoned with, a man whose resilience and power were feared across America, and now he tried desperately to summon whatever was left of that man. “Madame President, I am the Director of Magical Security and head of Magical Law Enforcement for the Magical Congress of the United States of America. I am not going off into the mountains to be some overblown magical janitor, or an application administrator, or –”

“Don’t be absurd. It’s an instructor position.”

Percival stared. “You want me to _teach_?”

“I don’t just want you to,” said Picquery, a little dangerously. “You’re going to do it.”

“I am not.” Percival scrambled for an excuse. “I’m not qualified. I don’t have the necessary degrees.”

“It’s all right. The Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Emily Mendez, was just awarded a Gubblebum Fellowship and she’s cutting back on her teaching duties to focus on her research. They need a temp to teach the first-years. So you see, you needn’t worry about your qualifications. They’re desperate.”

“...You want me to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts to first-years.”

“That’s correct.”

“I am literally the least qualified person for that job.”

Picquery widened her eyes. If Percival hadn’t known her so well, he’d have said she was trying to look innocent. “Why, Mr. Graves,” she said. “I thought you were Director of Magical Security and head of Magical Law Enforcement. Surely no one’s got a better grasp of the material than you?”

* * *

Tina said, “They want you to what?”

“This is all your fault,” Percival fumed. He’d been cleaning out his office, minding his own business, tossing all his effects into a box, when Tina had popped in to “check on him,” a thing she did about thirty times a day. “If you hadn’t told Picquery about your hair, none of this would have happened.”

“What’s my hair got to do with it? I thought she called you in to talk about Rathinbone. I hope you didn’t try to pawn that disaster off on me, by the way. _I_ didn’t forget to cast a tracer.”

Percival sulked.

“I can’t believe they’re sending you to Ilvermorny,” Tina went on. She brought Percival his bonsai tree from off the windowsill and added, “I’m a little jealous, actually. Some of my favorite memories are from my Ilvermorny years.”

“Didn’t you just graduate, like, last week?”

Tina thumped him with her hip. “Ha ha. I’m just saying, maybe it’ll be nice.”

“Eleven-year-olds,” moaned Percival. “Every day.”

“I like children. Besides, it’s only temporary, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I’ll be stuck there until this Mendez woman finishes her fellowship, I guess. Ugh. Emily Mendez. Back in my day, the teachers had names like Aphrodite Nettle, and Orly Youngblood, and –”

“Did you also have to walk five miles to school uphill both ways?”

“No,” Percival sneered. “I lived in the South Spire with the other Pukwudgies.”

Tina’s face lit up. “You were a _Pukwudgie_?”

“I have a big heart,” Percival sniffed.

“Ooh, I bet. You know what they say about Pukwudgies; big heart, big –”

“I’m still your supervisor, you know.”

Tina blushed but didn’t wipe the grin off her face. “Sorry.”

Percival, in a very unsupervisor-like move, stuck his tongue out at her.

“My sister was a Pukwudgie,” Tina carried on. They moved together toward the door, Percival carrying the box of his belongings. “She misses it a lot. She’s always talking about how she wishes she could go back.”

“It’s easy. Just tell her to screw up a really important criminal investigation.”

Tina stopped, clearly stricken with guilt. Which was intensely inconvenient, because she was in the middle of the doorway.

“I was kidding!” Percival protested. But Tina didn’t move. Percival glared at her and shifted the box. It was cumbersome but light. There wasn’t much in it: four never-opened books, the bonsai tree, some office supplies, a wand-polishing rag, and an empty picture frame. When he’d retaken this office four months ago, the room had been utterly vacant except for a desk and chair, and it had smelled of ash and bleaching spells from being burned out and scrubbed clean. Anything Grindelwald had put in it had been removed. Everything of Percival’s had been removed, too.

“I sort of miss the pictures,” he admitted aloud. “I had a good one of a dragon arm-wrestling George Washington.”

“They burned it,” said Tina.

“I know.”

“Mr. Graves?”

Percival said, “Don’t.”

But obedience was not one of Tina Goldstein’s strong suits. “I just wanted to say... I’ll hold down the fort until you come back.”

“Oh.” Percival looked down, surprised and a little gratified, at Tina’s round little determined face. “Well, thanks.”

* * *

So Percival boarded the No-Maj train at Grand Central and rode it for five interminable hours until he reached Springfield, Massachusetts. There he disembarked with a pair of No-Majs and their six ill-behaved children, meandered purposefully to the back of the squat redbrick station, and, when no one was watching, entered a large maintenance closet.

The closet contained a mop, an empty bucket, a broom and dustpan, several bars of lye soap, a folder of miscellaneous papers, a stack of towels, a stepladder, and a half-full box of cat litter. Percival consulted the letter Picquery had forced on him. He glanced around for a way out, for any path back to his old life at all. Then, sighing, he picked up the topmost towel.

The Portkey sucked him to the base of Mount Greylock.

Percival’s feet slammed into the ground, he stumbled and rolled – and then the mountain was sloping upward before him, its surface carpeted with rich emerald grass and evergreen trees and split by a wide, sandy path. Out of sheer habit Percival tilted his head back, trying to see the mountain’s peak. It wasn’t visible from here, not even close, and Percival knew it, but as a kid he’d believed that maybe if he squinted –

A scratchy voice behind him said, “You’re the new instructor?”

Percival turned. A four-foot-tall man with inch-thick glasses and a wild shock of blue hair blinked impatiently at him.

Percival said, “Kapuscinski?”

“Yes, yes, I’m the Keeper. You’ll be needing to go up the mountain, then. Couldn’t have come a day later, could you, then I could have bundled you in with the students. Oh well. Wait here.” Kapucscinski snatched the Portkey from Percival and trundled off to a massive wooden barn on the side of the path.

“You – you were the Keeper when I was a student,” Percival called after him. He was about to add that he couldn’t believe Kapuscinski was still alive, but he decided not to at the last second.

Kapuscinski paused. A massive snort sounded from inside the barn, along with what seemed to be a small earthquake. “Yeah?” said Kapuscinski. “What’s your name?”

“Percival Graves? I graduated in 1903.”

“Yes, I remember you. Head Boy, top scores in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms. Your mother picked a fight with the administration your first year because they wouldn’t let you bring your pet diricawl.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“You went to work for the government, yeah?”

“Yes, I’m actually –”

“Heard you got disgraced or something, didn’t you?”

“...Yes.”

“Hmph,” concluded Kapuscinski. He went inside the barn.

Percival put his trunk down and buried his face in his hands. Just for a few seconds.

When he took a deep breath and lifted his face, Kapuscinski was emerging from the barn with a massive re’em, its golden oxlike body heaving as it breathed. “You know the drill.”

“...Where’s the cart?”

“I told you. You’ve got to go up alone. The students aren’t here yet and the rest of the teachers arrived a week ago.”

“Look, Kapuscinski,” said Percival with dignity, “you’re not suggesting that I _ride_ –”

Kapuscinski heaved Percival into the saddle as though Percival were a child and Kapuscinski were a normal-sized man. While Percival was sputtering Kapuscinski buckled Percival’s trunk onto the back of the saddle. Then he handed Percival the re’em’s lead. “Off you go.”

“You know I have no idea how to do this, right?”

“Yes,” said Kapuscinski. He went back inside. The re’em began to plod.

Percival stared up the path and sighed. It was going to be a long semester.

* * *

Percival knew from experience that the ride to Ilvermorny took nearly four hours from the base of the mountain, but it was different when you were in a re’em-drawn cart, surrounded by snacks and your best friends. During his seventh year, Percival and his friends had actually commissioned a private cart and thrown a rager on their way up. Now, Percival’s middle-aged butt and legs ached from balancing on the broad, hard back of the re’em. He hadn’t eaten since Grand Central. And he couldn’t stop thinking about how even ninety-year-old Kapuscinski, who literally lived in a barn in the middle of the woods, knew he was a disgrace.

Even so, when the re’em broke through the spell shield and the grey mist vanished before Percival’s eyes, the sight of the hefty stone castle, with its turrets and solemn statues and perfectly manicured lawn, made Percival catch his breath.

The re’em stopped at the edge of the lawn, where the sandy path ended. Sore and creaking, Percival dismounted and levitated his trunk off the animal. Percival expected the re’em to veer for the stables – he had never actually known what happened to the animals once the students left them behind – but instead it did an about-face and began to lumber back down the mountain.

“Thank Kapuscinski for nothing,” Percival hollered at it. The re’em paused and gazed reproachfully over its shoulder.

“I mean it,” said Percival.

The animal continued down.

Percival looked at the castle again. His heart quailed. Vividly he wished for Tina. She would badger him into carrying on, or else she’d march him back to New York and holler at Picquery for him.

One of the castle statues noticed him hovering on the edge of the grounds. It waved, then prodded its neighbor. The neighbor kicked it.

Percival steeled himself and marched into the castle.


	2. Chapter 2

The entryway was as magnificent as ever, and except for some faux-electric lights and an apparently refurbished carpet, it was unchanged. Constructed of the same solemn grey stone as the exterior, and hung with gorgeous tapestries depicting events from wizarding America’s history, this long corridor had struck awe (and sometimes terror) into the heart of every first-year in Percival’s class. Percival remembered huddling with the other first years close to the great oaken front doors, wishing desperately that he were home in Westchester and gawping at a tapestry of the witch Sophie Auld teaching a young Frederick Douglass how to transfigure a pair of spectacles.

The hall was also empty.

Percival proceeded down it. His footsteps echoed. “Hello?”

Nothing.

“Principal? Emily Mendez? Anybody?”

“Hello,” leered the tapestry of Ida Wells-Barnett as he passed it. “Who’s this now?”

Percival glared. “Mind your own business, Ida.”

“Ooh, he recognizes me! I told you I was famous, Abigail.” This to Abigail Adams, who had left her own tapestry and was weaving a daisy chain at Ida’s feet. When she didn’t answer, Ida returned her attention to Percival. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”

Self-consciously Percival adjusted his cuffs. “I’ve been riding an overgrown cow for four hours. You’d look like hell too if you ever did anything but sit there and harass people all day.” He didn’t know why the school had given Ida a tapestry anyway. She wasn’t even dead yet; he’d met her two years ago. She raised even more hell in person.

“I single-handedly ended the persecution of house elves in America, fought for women’s suffrage across the board, _and_ founded the No-Maj National Association for the Advancement of Colored People,” said Ida complacently. “And I still found time to shower, so you haven’t got an excuse.”

“That’s not Percy?” interrupted the Marquis de Lafayette. He was in the next tapestry over, and he’d been leaning his head interestedly into Ida’s frame. “Percy Graves?”

“The boy with the diricawl? Don’t be absurd, Joe. Percy Graves is an Auror now. He hasn’t got time to visit his alma mater.”

“That’s Percy,” crowed the Marquis. “I’d bet my life on it.”

“You haven’t got a life,” Ida told him. “You’re a picture.”

“Percy, tell her you’re Percy! Tell her.”

“I prefer Percival,” said Percival stiffly.

The Marquis danced. “See!”

“If you’re quite done,” Percy went on, “I’m looking for the Princip–”

“Are you really Percy Graves?” Abigail piped up. “What happened to you? You were always so dashing.”

“More importantly,” said Ida, “what happened to the diricawl?”

Percival lost it. “I am _looking_ for the Principal!” he bellowed.

Immediately the Marquis ducked back into his own tapestry. Abigail dropped her daisy chain and clapped her hands over her mouth. Only Ida remained unperturbed. “Heavens,” she said. “Government work’s given you a temper, hasn’t it? The Principal is in the main entrance hall, along with the rest of the staff. You might have asked.”

Percival whacked the tapestry and bruised his hand on the stone wall.

“Apparently government work has made you stupid, too,” Ida said.

Viciously Percival stormed off down the corridor.

The corridor opened directly into the entrance hall, Ilvermorny’s pride and joy, a massive round room ringed by a high gilded balcony. Four tremendous wooden statues jutted out from the balconies, one from each cardinal direction. The floor, which Percival stepped on now, was inlaid with gold, jade, onyx, lapis and red sandstone, creating a massive version of the Ilvermorny crest.

Percival glanced at the southernmost statue, the Pukwudgie. But of course it did not budge. He was not a new student, so it did not need to choose him. He wondered if it would choose him now, if any of them would choose him now.

 _Don’t be ridiculous_ , he told himself sternly. _If one of them picked that buffoon Abernathy, surely one of them would choose you._

Towards the other side of the room, a witch and two wizards were conversing. Percival had never met any of them before, but he identified Principal Wilhelmina Thomas easily, since she was the only woman. Although she was certainly older than Percival, she had only taken on the role of Principal a few years ago, after the retirement of Principal Youngblood. One of the wizards, a Native American fellow with close-cropped black-and-iron hair, looked fairly old, at least sixty-five, but Percival didn’t know him, either; while the other, a strawberry-blond white man with thick spectacles, was probably only about thirty.

Percival overheard part of their conversation as he approached. “– too dangerous,” the younger wizard was saying. “I know he’s a child, but what about the other children? Think of what might happen. What will you tell their parents?”

“Oh, he’s harmless, Kit,” snorted the older wizard. “I told you, they fixed him up, he’s normal now, took whatever-it-was out of him.”

“They say they did,” said Kit darkly. Percival was only a few feet away now. “At any rate, the power required –”

“Ssh,” said the older wizard suddenly. He’d spotted Percival. “You there! What do you want?”

 _I want to go home_ , Percival thought. Aloud he replied, “I’m Percival Graves, the new hire? I’m looking for Wilhelmina Thomas. Ida said she’d be in here, and I assume she meant you –” he directed this to the gray-haired black woman – “since you’re the only lady.” He glanced at Kit and the older wizard. “Unless one of you is Principal Thomas.”

“Ooh, a smartmouth,” muttered Kit. “Sure we need another one of those around here.”

But Principal Thomas was smiling, a flat and gentle smile. She hadn’t uttered a word while the two wizards bickered, and she turned her back on them to sweep forward and greet Percival with a warm clasp of the hand. “Oh, wonderful! I’m so pleased to see you made it here safely.”

“I mean, if eleven-year-olds can do it,” Percival said.

Principal Thomas’s smile froze, but only for a moment. She showed Percival to the group. “Gentlemen, this is our new part-time Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Percival Graves. He’ll be handling the first-years until Emily finishes her fellowship. Mr. Graves, this is Kit Plimp, who teaches Potions, and Henry Little, who teaches Wandless Magic and runs our exchange program with the Lakota school in South Dakota.”

“I didn’t know there was a Lakota school.”

“You wouldn’t,” Henry said coolly.

“Hold up,” said Kit. “Percival Graves? I know that name. You famous?”

“Mr. Graves comes to us from MACUSA,” said Principal Thomas. “He is on sabbatical.”

“...From MACUSA?”

“Yes,” said Principal Thomas.

“And you decided to spend your sabbatical teaching basic magic to small children?”

“Yes,” said Principal Thomas, even though the question hadn’t been directed at her.

Kit frowned at Percival. “What do you do at MACUSA?”

“I’m an Auror,” said Percival before the Principal could get a word in edgewise. He glanced sidelong at her, but her expression remained as benign as ever. If she was bothered by Percival answering for his own damn self, she didn’t show it.

Kit frowned some more, then shrugged. “Damn. Well I guess after some of the shit you’ve seen, a crapload of kids must seem like a restful break, huh?”

“Sure, whatever," Percival said.

“Hey,” said Henry. “What can you tell us about Gellert Grindelwald?”

Percival felt as though a layer of ice had frozen over his exposed skin. “What?”

“Well, he’s loose, isn’t he?”

“Not anymore,” Percival said after a beat. “They locked him up in. In.” He couldn’t remember what month it was. “Four months ago.”

“No, I mean –”

“That’s enough,” Principal Thomas broke in. “Let’s not harass Mr. Graves on his first day.”

“I just thought –”

“That’s _enough_.”

Her mild voice was laced with steel, blunt and wielded with such force that it cracked the ice-sensation on Percival’s skin. He looked at her with surprise. She was watching Henry and Kit closely, and both of them had fallen silent.

So that was why they’d made her Principal. Even Picquery couldn’t wield authority so effectively.

Percival felt a shiver of respect, and he straightened as Principal Thomas looked at him. “Come along,” she said in her ordinary voice. “I’ll show you to your rooms.”

They left Kit and Henry and left the entrance hall by the South Gate before mounting the stairs to the South Spire. The staircase was grey stone like the rest of the castle, decorated with bows and arrows and smiling portraits of famous Pukwudgies, and Percival almost couldn’t believe how familiar it all was. “I thought you might like to be in Pukwudgie House,” Principal Thomas explained over her shoulder. “You can’t stay in the Spire proper, of course, as that’s where the dormitories are, but we’ve fixed up a nice room on the fourth floor for you.”

“You needn’t have gone to all the trouble,” Percival was starting to say, although obviously they had to put him somewhere, when Principal Thomas stepped off onto the fourth-floor landing and Alohomora’d a room with a heavy wooden door. She gestured to Percival to enter first, and Percival did.

He paused.

It was a single medium-sized room, with a sofa and a bed and a desk and a wardrobe and a big, big bookshelf. There was a massive window with a wide ledge, and a lovely little mini-carving of the Pukwudgie stomping about on the desk, and candles floating in the cupola ceiling, and –

And the bookshelf was filled with all his books, his real books that he hadn’t seen in thirteen months, the books that Congress had confiscated in Grindelwald’s wake; and hanging over the bed was his painting of Washington and the dragon.

Percival, genuinely stunned, said, “Wh-what?”

“Seraphina Picquery had some of your valuables sent up from New York,” Principal Thomas explained. She came into the room and laid a hand on the window ledge. “She said you’d prefer a room with morning sunlight, for your little tree. I thought you could put it here. Do you like the room?”

“I, uh,” Percival managed. He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them the room in the South Spire was still there. “I, well. I do, Principal Thomas. I – yeah. I do.”

“Please,” said Principal Thomas. She was smiling beatifically, and, Percival thought, a little relievedly. “You can call me Meenie. And if there’s anything you need, Mr. Graves, please don’t hesitate to ask. There’s a guest staying in the room above you this semester – she’s due to arrive tomorrow with the students – so you’ll have company.”

Percival had no idea what to say. He was still staring at his painting. “Okay.”

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Principal Thomas – Meenie – said, after an awkward pause. “We’ve already had dinner, I’m afraid, but I’ll have something sent up for you.”

“Okay,” said Percival.

Meenie retreated, and Percival thunked down hard on the bed, finally letting his trunk drop. He made no moves to unpack, though. Instead he stared some more at the painting, at his books, at the Pukwudgie statue, at the lovely flickering candles, and at the expansive starlit view of mountainous Massachusetts. Percival had not actually encountered anything that he liked in thirteen months. The feeling in his heart was warm and smooth, and he was not quite sure what to do with it.


	3. Chapter 3

Eventually Percival unpacked and bathed and changed into his pajamas, after which he felt a little more like his old self, or at least like what he could remember of his old self. A house-elf (paid and clothed, of course, thanks to jolly old Ida) knocked on his door about half an hour after Meenie left, bearing a tray of pot roast and mashed potatoes. Percival wolfed it down, left the tray outside, and collapsed into a corpselike sleep.

He awoke at dawn to sunlight streaming through the big window, illuminating the fixtures of his new room and painting the grey stone silver. Instantly his mind reminded him that the first few students were at this very moment collecting at the base of the mountain, that within a few hours they would number in the hundreds, and that they would be here tonight.

Some of them would be Percival’s students.

“Shut up,” Percival muttered to his own head, rolling out of bed and tugging a pressed suit out of the wardrobe. There was no reason to look like hell for two days in a row. “I handled Grindelwald, I can handle a bunch of wriggly kids.”

 _You didn’t handle Grindelwald_.

“Well. I handled Rathinbone, notorious robber of magical banks and business partner of mob-boss Gnarlack. How about that?”

_You didn’t handle Rathinb–_

“Well I must’ve handled something! I’m the Director of Magical Security, for Merlin’s sake. I am highly competent and a force to be reckoned with.” At this point Percival was talking out loud to his reflection in the shaving mirror.

 _You are not the Director of Magical Security_ , the voice in the back of his head said. His reflection’s lips were pursed and white, its eyes wide in an expression that would have looked frightened on anyone but Percival Graves. _You are a part-time DADA instructor without any of the proper credentials, and you’ll probably screw that up too._

Percival finished shaving and went to find a real person to talk to. He’d even resort to hanging out with Ida. Anything to get him out of his own head.

* * *

In the end he stumbled across Kit, Aphrodite Nettle (a tall, fat, redhaired woman who had been the Transfiguration instructor in Percival’s time, and still was), and an unfamiliar, very tiny tan-skinned woman, all crowded around a large coffee table in the teacher’s lounge, which he found entirely by accident. This room was a large, rectangular, windowless space on the lowest level of the castle, situated next to the kitchens. A network of enchanted hallways led to it from every floor, but the network was only accessible by instructors. Percival had spent most of his fifth year trying and failing to find a way into them.

Back then there had been a pervasive rumor that the teacher’s lounge got twenty-four-seven service from the kitchens. Percival, inwardly reveling in the achievement of his fifteen-year-old self’s dream, was disappointed to discover that this was apparently not the case.

“Percy Graves!” boomed Aphrodite, beaming. “So it is you! I thought old Meenie was lying to me about my star student coming home.” Percival ducked his head, pleased in spite of himself. Kit scoffed. “Come, come, sit down! What made you give up government work? I heard you were making quite a name for yourself.”

“He’s helping me out, Aphrodite,” said the tiny woman. “It’s very kind of you to come all this way, Mr. Graves.” She stuck out her hand. “Emily Mendez. Pleased to meet you.”

“Uh, Percy,” said Percival. “Percival. Percy. Percival.”

“Pick one, man,” Kit muttered.

“We’re revising our syllabi,” said Emily. “I’ve got one for the DADA first-years from last year that you’re welcome to use, although of course you’re free to revise it as you see fit.” Percival gingerly settled himslf between Emily and Aphrodite, and Emily handed him a sheet of paper.

 _Week One. The Theory of Defense for Beginners, Pages 1-20. Week Two. The Theory of Defense for Beginners, Pages 21-65. Week Three. The Theory of Defense for Beginners, Pages 66-79._ And so on. Frankly it was the most insipid syllabus Percival had ever seen. There wasn’t even anything in it about actual defense or actual Dark arts.

“Uh,” he said.

“I’m afraid the students will have already purchased the textbook I use, since we had to send the letters out months ago. But I’m sure if you prefer something else, Meenie can –”

Percival couldn’t help himself. “Do you really teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this way?”

Emily blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just – the theory of defense? Isn’t that kind of, I don’t know, useless?”

Aphrodite and Kit had gone quiet. Kit put his papers down. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Emily said uncertainly. “It... would you propose teaching them some other kind of theory? It _is_ Defense Against the Dark Arts, so –”

“I’d propose teaching them practice,” said Percival.

“Percy,” said Aphrodite dryly, “I know _you_ probably knew how to cast a Patronus the instant you first picked up your wand, but they’re only eleven.”

“So? What good is theory going to do them when Grindelwald – or, you know, whoever – shows up in the middle of the night and starts cursing them left and right? They need spells, not textbooks. We’re on the brink of war. You think Grindelwald cares that they’re only eleven? They need to know what they’re up against!”

“I hardly think the greatest Dark wizard in the world would bother with a children’s school,” sniffed Kit.

“And honestly, Percy, that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” said Aphrodite. She and Emily had been exchanging looks across Percival’s lap. “We’re not on the brink of war. Yes, Grindelwald was sighted in the States, but he’s one man, and they caught him almost immediately. It isn’t as though he caused some kind of security breach.”

“Almost immediately, huh?” Percival said through clenched teeth. He was starting to sweat.

“He is not one man,” said Kit. “He’s building an army in Europe.”

“Oh, honestly, Kit, you believe everything you read.”

“And someone did cause a security breach,” said Emily. “The Obscurial, remember?”

“That wasn’t a _security_ breach –”

“Yes it was! He killed a No-Maj!”

“That was in New York,” said Kit suddenly. “Percival, did you see it?”

Percival’s throat closed up. After a minute of the other three watching him, he managed, “I was away on business.”

“Damn shame,” said Kit. “Heard it was the event of the century."

"What happened to the child?” asked Emily.

“The Obscurial? They executed him.” Percival remembered that much, at least, from the briefing Picquery had given him after he’d been rescued. He didn’t remember much else. The briefing had covered a lot of material.

“No they didn’t,” said Kit. “He survived. A British magizoologist found him in Europe and extracted the Obscurus. He’s alive. He’s coming here.”

“Who told you that?” Emily demanded, while Percival reeled.

“I bet it was Henry,” said Aphrodite.

“Meenie confirmed it,” Kit said defensively.

“Did she? Or did you and Henry just bicker about it in front of her?”

Kit opened his mouth, hesitated, and then said, “Well, she didn’t deny it.”

“It’s a lie,” Aphrodite said. “An unfounded rumor. First of all, the child is dead, and second of all, you can’t extract an Obscurus.”

“Can too. Henry says they’ve been doing it for –”

“Ugh, why don’t you and Henry just get _married_ already?”

Kit got so indignant he lost the power of speech, and Percival took advantage of the opportunity to say, “But they can’t have found him. I was in New York until yesterday. I would have known.” The whole government would have been in a frenzy. Picquery would have taken the kid into custody, or more likely just had him executed a second time. And Tina would have been all up in arms. She’d loved the Obscurial boy, and it was no secret that she had a thing for the British magizoologist, assuming it was the same guy.

“I guess we’ll find out soon, won’t we,” said Kit sullenly.

“Forget the Obscurial,” Emily said. “What about Grindelwald? What about the war?”

“There is no war!” Aphrodite insisted. “He’s in captivity! He’s harmless!”

“Wait,” said Kit. “I read this morning that he escaped.”

Percival’s blood went cold.

But Emily retorted, “Oh, please, I read that a month ago. I read that every week, practically.”

“I also read a really good opinion article a while ago,” said Kit, “that suggested that they never actually caught him at all. That it was all some kind of cover-up.”

“Did you read that one that said he died in captivity?”

“ _I_ read that MACUSA’s interrogation was successful and that Grindelwald told them everything, and we’re all perfectly safe,” said Aphrodite stiffly.

“Percival?” said Kit. “What do you think?”

Percival couldn’t feel his own hands. “W-what?”

“You’re our in,” said Kit. “Our man in the know. What really happened with Grindelwald?”

“He, uh,” Percival said. His voice didn’t sound right. He felt like a puppet being maneuvered from far away, like someone else’s voice was vibrating through his throat. “He.”

For a minute no one else in the room spoke, and then Aphrodite said, “Percy?”

“I, um.” Percival screwed his eyes shut. If only he could prevent his body from shaking, if only he could get himself out of this teacher’s lounge before he really lost it. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep well, I think the – the altitude’s getting to me. If you don’t mind, I’m just going to lie down for a bit. Thanks for the syllabus, Emily.”

“We’re only three thousand feet up,” said Kit.

“Kit!” Emily whispered loudly as Percival rose on shaky feet. “Let the man go, can’t you see he’s not feeling well?”

“Yeah, but altitude sickness? We’re in Massachusetts, not Kilimanjaro.”

Percival would have liked to hex him, or maybe just punch him in the face. Instead he stumbled out and found his way back to his room, and he lay down weak with hunger and covered in a cold sweat. He tried to convince himself that it was all just rumor, that Grindelwald wasn’t at large at all, that everyone in this godforsaken castle had just been reading too many tabloids; and then, when rational logic failed to calm his body, he resolved to contact Picquery and confirm that everything was all right. Not right now, though. She couldn’t see him like this. He’d do it in a couple of minutes, when he could hold his hands steady and when the blood had returned to his face. 

Except by the time he started to feel normal, he was so exhausted that he couldn’t do anything but close his eyes and fade into a black, restless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

He woke in the evening as the candles lit up and only had time to fix his hair and charm the wrinkles from his suit before he dashed to the entrance hall balcony to witness the selection ceremony.

He was early, just barely. The hall itself, the ground floor area where Percival had met Meenie and Kit and Henry yesterday, was empty but for Meenie, who would conduct the ceremony. The balcony was already clustered with faculty. Percival didn’t really want to see Kit or Aphrodite or Emily again after the mortifying incident in the teacher’s lounge, but he couldn’t very well stand with Meenie, and Henry was clustered with Kit and the women. So reluctantly Percival tacked himself onto the group. “When do the little hellions get here?” he asked.

“Honestly, Percy, they’re sweet,” said Aphrodite, at the same time Kit said, “In about ten minutes, probably.”

“I don’t understand why you teach,” Emily said to Kit.

“Good benefits and summers off,” Kit said, in a mocking tone of voice that made Percival suspect he actually loved his job. “What about you, Percival?”

“They made me come here because I was screwing up too much at home,” Percival said.

Emily looked uncomfortable and glanced around, but Aphrodite only laughed, and Kit nodded sagely. Henry ignored him entirely. It was Henry, a few minutes later, who said, “Your hellions are about to enter.”

The adults on the balcony hushed. For several seconds the only sound was a muffled rustling noise coming from the entrance corridor. There, Percival knew, the new students were waiting for the moment that would define the rest of their lives. Meenie stood in the center of the hall in ceremonial robes of maroon and ink-blue, looking very small and very regal.

She spread her arms.

The seventh-years swarmed in first, wearing normal student robes of cranberry and cerulean. At first they jostled each other and snickered, but as each of them caught sight of Meenie they fell silent and took their places, ringing the entrance hall with their backs against the wall.

Then the sixth-years entered and stood in a slightly tighter ring in front of the seventh-years, and so on and so forth, until the second-years were standing in front in the tightest ring of all, facing Meenie and the crest.

For a moment everyone was still and quiet. Percival, despite himself, felt a little shiver of excitement and joy. He had always loved this part.

“Come in,” Meenie called kindly.

The first of the first-years stepped through.

He was four feet tall and trembling, his face ashen beneath a head of close-cropped black hair. “Abassi Adebayo,” said Meenie. “Stand here, please.” She moved back, and Abassi, very obviously wishing he were back in his house and preferably hidden under the bed, took her place at the center of the Ilvermorny crest.

Percival watched, fascinated. The ceremony was even better from up here, where you could see everyone’s face and all the statues at once. He only slightly regretted not being part of the excitement on the floor.

Meenie joined the ring of second-years, so Abassi was the only person standing on the crest.

For a moment, nothing. Then –

The Pukwudgie carving raised its arrow.

“Yes!” Percival shouted, and clapped his hand over his mouth.

But no one had heard him except the faculty, who were variously nudging him or rolling their eyes, because every Pukwudgie on the floor had burst into delighted roars.

Meenie allowed the noise, shuffling Abassi to his spot in front of the second-years, where he would begin the ring of first-years. Then she took up her spot in the center and boomed out the next name. At the sound of her voice, everybody went quiet. When they registered the name they went even quieter.

“Credence Barebone.”

Percival started.

“Told you,” Kit murmured to no one in particular, and Henry retorted, “ _I_ told you,” but Percival didn’t care who had told whom, because nobody had told _him_. Why hadn’t Picquery mentioned that the Obscurial would be here? Why hadn’t Tina? Were Kit’s rumors true? Had the boy been found months ago? Maybe Congress had cured him back at the beginning of the summer. Maybe they’d found and cured him before they’d even started looking for Percival! Maybe the Barebone child was more important to them than Percival was! Oh, _why_ hadn’t Tina told him what was going on –

A tall, slouching white kid with shaggy black hair slunk into the room.

The boy wore the standard blue-and-cranberry robes, of course, but they were a few inches too short, and a pair of slick black shoes peeked out from underneath the hem. He was definitely at least eighteen. His gaze was lowered in a way that spoke of habit. He looked at no one, not at the faculty, not at the students who’d started to whisper, not even at Meenie. Then Meenie, calm as ever, stepped back, and the hall fell silent once again. Only then did Credence glance up and take in his surroundings. His face was as blank and white as a piece of unmarked paper.

_He’s scared_ , Percival thought. But there was something else in Credence’s expression, too, behind the fear. Resignation, maybe. Or defiance. Defiance of what?

The statues did not move.

Soon the students began to whisper again. After what felt like a full minute, the faculty began to whisper, too. Credence’s face was turning brick-red from the neck up. He tilted his face higher, avoiding the gazes of his fellow students, and his eyes met Percival’s.

The blood drained out of Credence’s face.

And the Wampus let out a roar so tremendous it shook the stones of the hall.

For a moment everyone was quiet. The Wampus had not roared so loud in living memory. Then the students of Wampus House began to scream and cheer, but Credence did not seem to notice. He was still staring at Percival.

_Hello_ , Percival mouthed. He gave a little wave. He didn’t know why – he’d never met Credence, after all – but he felt a kinship with the kid. After all, it looked like MACUSA had kicked him out too. And Grindelwald had ruined them both, so they had that in common. Though it had to be said that the kid didn’t _look_ ruined. He looked tall and healthy and strong.

Meenie tugged Credence away and put him next to Abassi. The girl behind Credence, presumably a Wampus, clapped him on the back. Credence ducked his head and blushed again, but Percival caught him starting to smile.

“Do you know him?” Aphrodite asked.

“No.”

“You’re staring.”

“Everyone’s staring,” Percival said, which was true, although he hadn’t noticed himself doing it.

“And he was staring at you,” Kit remarked. “Are you sure you don’t know him?”

“Of course,” Percival said. Although, he realized with a sinking heart, that didn’t mean Credence didn’t know _him_.

* * *

After the Sorting, the new students continued to the Wand Chamber to be paired with their wands, while the faculty and the older students went to the dining hall. Unlike stuffy European institutions like Hogwarts and Durmstrang, Ilvermorny had no high table, and the students were not arranged by house, which meant that anybody could sit anywhere. Percival would have liked to sit with his back to a wall. The other instructors, however, sat in the center of the room, so Percival, feeling trapped, joined them.

Slowly but surely the first-years trickled in. Credence Barebone, being a “B,” was one of the first, and that was when Percival received his second shock of the evening: Credence was accompanied by Queenie Goldstein.

Kit caught him gawking and said, “Do you know _her_?”

“Cut it out, Kit,” said Emily. “She’s too pretty for him.”

“No, I do, actually,” said Percival, already hurrying over. Queenie saw him coming and beamed one of her signature smiles.

“Percy!” she said brightly. Credence was beside her, looking a little stunned by the evening’s events. Still, he wasn’t so stunned that he didn’t remember to glower at Percival. Percival opened his mouth to say something – maybe “Welcome to Ilvermorny,” or “How about that Grindelwald?” – but Queenie was already stepping between them and pushing Credence off to sit with the students. “How wonderful,” she said to Percival. “Tina told me you’d be here. Isn’t it lovely to be back?”

“Are you teaching?”

“Teaching? Don’t be silly. I’m here to look after Credence.”

Percival tried to decide which of his thousand questions to ask first.

“Oh, goodness, I forgot,” Queenie said. “Tina said you might not know.”

“Know what!”

“About Credence. You see, Tina's friend Newt Scamander found him a few months ago and extracted the Obscurus. Since then Newt and the President have been trying to decide what to do with him. The President wanted him looked after by MACUSA, but Newt wouldn’t allow it. Then Credence said he wanted to learn real magic, so it was decided he’d come to Ilvermorny.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Queenie blinked innocently. “Well, Newt found him only a few weeks after Tina found you. You weren’t doing so well, Percy. I think the President didn’t want to tell you anything that might cause you distress.”

“Oh, the President,” said Percival disgustedly. “She never tells me anything. Why didn’t you tell me? Or Tina?”

“I haven’t seen you all summer, Percy. And although I know Tina values her relationship with you, she couldn’t very well defy direct orders from the President, could she?”

“She’s done it before.”

“Yes, and she got fired. You wouldn’t want Tina fired, would you?”

Percival rubbed his hands through his hair. He was feeling too many things at once, and he couldn’t sort them out. And it was very difficult to keep from glancing constantly at Credence. The boy was a tangible presence in his mind, a central vertex around which Percival’s consciousness swung like a satellite. He was vividly aware that if he just turned his head a few inches, he would see Credence’s back and the nape of his neck.

“Huh,” said Queenie.

Percival cursed himself. With Queenie in the castle he would have to practice Occlumency all the time. He threw up his walls and said, to distract her, “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

“I told you. I’m looking after him. Newt and the President both agreed that it wasn’t wise to throw him into an unfamiliar environment all alone. Well, Newt’s got to focus on his research, and Tina’s an Auror, and no one else knows him very well; but I was dispensable.” Queenie smiled again, flashing all her white teeth. “And I’ve always wanted to return to Ilvermorny anyway.”

“You’re not dispensable,” said Percival.

“I work in Wand Licensing,” Queenie said without a trace of resentment.

“Why is that, anyway? You’re a Legilimens.”

Queenie shrugged and said, as she had a thousand times, “Tina’s the career girl, not me.”

That wasn’t an answer, but Percival dropped it. There was a more pressing topic on his mind, and he could no longer resist asking, “Does he know about me? I mean, does he know I’m not...”

“Tina told him,” Queenie said thoughtfully. “But I’m not sure he really understood. He doesn’t know anything about Polyjuice or human Transfiguration or anything like that.”

“Can’t you read him to find out?”

“Not really.”

“Is he... a born Occlumens?” Born Occlumens were rarer than born Legilimens and harder to identify, but they still existed. If Credence were a born Occlumens _and_ an ex-Obscurial, he probably had more raw power in his blood than any wizard since Merlin.

“No,” Queenie said. “I can get inside his head, but I can’t read him when I’m there. I think he’s just had a lot of practice controlling and hiding his thoughts.”

The last students had come in with their wands, and the house-elves were entering with the salad course. Queenie floofed off. Percival began to follow her, but Kit whistled for him, so with a jumbled mind and an unsettled heart, he returned to the faculty table.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi pals! Sooo I feel like this chapter is Kind Of Dark, and I also feel like the rest of the story is going to trend pretty hard in the same direction. (I don't do sad endings, though, so it is going to pick up at some point.) Anyway I am trying very hard to deal with the Dark Themes with sensitivity and nuance, which is partly why this chapter update took so long; but if there is anything you think I could do with MORE sensitivity and nuance, I would really, genuinely appreciate the feedback.

Emily spent most of dinner introducing Percival (“he’s a former Auror!”) to what seemed like every single person in the dining hall. He didn’t get to speak to Queenie again, and he couldn’t find a way to talk to Credence without being conspicuous and weird. He also didn’t get to talk to Kit or Henry, whom he wanted to interrogate about the latest tabloids, since apparently they were a better source of news than the President of the Magical Congress. He collapsed into bed a nervous, overtired wreck and woke the next day in a blind panic to frantically revise his syllabus. He trashed nine versions before telling himself that no eleven-year-old was going to read the damn syllabus anyway, and then he scribbled some words on a piece of paper, performed a hasty copying charm that smudged the ink, and dashed off to his first class, where he was, of course, late.

It was first period, and he was teaching the Wampuses and Pukwudgies. He’d forgotten to make attendance sheets, so he sent around a piece of paper for the students to write their names. Then he distributed the syllabi. He kept his eyes on the papers so as to avoid really looking at the children, but he still couldn’t get over how tiny they were. They weren’t even real people yet. Surely no one was trusting Percival to shape them into real people? And they were already laughing at him. There was a trio of girls in the far left corner who kept stealing glances at him and then blushing and giggling uncontrollably. Probably they were laughing at his hair, which had gotten all messed up on his undignified dash through the halls.

Five minutes in and he already hated this. He wasn’t equipped for it. Right after this very class, he would march straight back to New York and give Picquery a piece of his mind.

But even as he told himself all this, he was drawing himself up, clearing his throat, and introducing himself.

“Hello,” he said. Years of Auroring had apparently not made him any good at defending his body against Dark wizards, but it had taught him how to keep his cool. “My name is Mr. Graves. I’m your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this semester and only this semester, so don’t get used to it. Now –”

“Why?” someone asked.

Startled, Percival looked at the students for the first time.

Credence Barebone was in the third row.

Percival’s brain stuttered. Half a second later it tried to catch up – of course Credence was in this class, he was a first-year Wampus – but he realized he’d supposed that Credence would be pushed up to more advanced classes. He was eighteen, after all, older than most of the seventh-years, and he was clearly capable of incredible magic.

He also hadn’t asked the question.

“Mr. Graves?” the inquisitive student repeated.

Credence was sitting rigidly on his bench, an awkward mountain surrounded by molehills. His eyes were trained on a point near Percival’s waist. He did not appear to be interested in acknowledging anything about the classroom, least of all the man standing at the front of it.

“Mr. Graves.”

Percival looked at the questioning student at last. It was Abassi, the tiny black Pukwudgie who’d gone first at the Sorting.

“I’m sorry,” Percival said. “First day jitters. Would you repeat your question, please?”

“Why are you only teaching us for one semester?”

“Because I am substituting for Ms. Mendez, and she will be finished her fellowship by the time the semester ends. Now, I’d like to direct your atten–”

“What are you going to do after that?”

Percival sighed. “I do not consider my personal life to be an appropriate topic for class discussion.”

“I bet he’s leaving because he hates us already,” one of the girl-trio whispered, sniggering.

“For Merlin’s sake,” said Percival. “I can’t possibly hate you yet. Give me a week or two to make a decision about it.”

“What did you do before this?” a tall Japanese girl in the back row asked.

Percival opened his mouth to inform them huffily that he had been a high-level government official, thank you very much. But his gaze snagged on Credence again. Credence’s face was now bone-white. He had not moved a muscle.

Percival hesitated. Then he said, “Until a year ago, I was the Director of Magical Security at MACUSA.”

A couple of the students went, “Ooooh,” but most of them obviously didn’t understand government structure.

Percival gripped the underside of his desk and willed himself not to look at Credence. “Then, a year ago, I was removed, and someone else took my place for a while.”

“Why?” Abassi asked.

“Politics,” said Percival, which was not quite a lie. “Matters of power.”

“But you came back?”

“Temporarily,” said Percival. The word hurt his throat. “I was... reinstated, four months ago. But it was decided – _I_ decided” – now that _was_ a lie, but this pack of eleven-year-olds didn’t need to know that – “that my time would be better spent here.”

“But only for a semester,” clarified the Japanese girl.

“Yes,” Percival said. “Only for a semester.”

The room was quiet. Uncomfortably so.

Then one of the girl-trio said, “Well, _we’re_ glad you’re here, Mr. Graves,” and started giggling again.

“Thank you,” said Percival. “Now, if you don’t mind, can we please turn to the syllabus.”

No one appeared to mind, so Percival picked up the syllabus and cleared his throat. He could not, however, resist sneaking one last glance at Credence. He wondered if Credence would believe his story. He felt a little sick.

And Credence was still stiff-backed, and he still wouldn’t look at Percival’s face.

Hopelessly Percival glanced down at his syllabus. He hated it. He hated everything. “As you can see,” he began, “we’re going to kick off with a study of the Cruciatus Curse. Who can tell me what the Cruciatus Curse is?”

No one answered.

“Oh, come on,” Percival said, after a silence that lasted about a thousand years. “None of you? It’s famous!”

The primary giggle girl – a chubby white redhead named Mary Sue, as Percival could see from the now-completed sign-in sheet – said hesitantly, “Is it in the textbook?”

“Textbook? What textbook?”

“The... one in our admissions letter?”

“Oh, that. Forget that. Throw it away. Come on, people, Cruciatus. Cruciatus.”

“Is there going to be homework on this?”

Percival began to say that their homework was to prepare themselves to defend against the forces of evil, but at that moment the door creaked open. It was Queenie.

“Sorry,” she said, somehow managing to beam at Percival while glaring daggers at Credence. Credence did not acknowledge her. She slid into a seat in the back row, apparently trying to make herself inconspicuous. Percival resisted the urge to frown.

The Japanese girl, Yuri, asked her, “Do _you_ know what the Cruciatus Curse is?”

Queenie blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“He’s quizzing us on the first day,” Abassi said.

Queenie picked up Yuri’s syllabus and read it. Her face darkened. “Percy.”

“That’s Mr. Graves to you,” Percival said, as Mary Sue’s cohort whispered delightedly, “ _Percy_!”

“Percival Graves, you cannot start these children off with the Unforgivable Curses.”

“Why not?”

“They are _children_ ,” Queenie said, as if Percival could somehow have missed it. She began to read the syllabus aloud. “Week One. Topic: Inure Yourself to the Cruciatus Curse. Week Two. Topic: Fight Off the Imperius Curse. Week Three: Cast a Patronus. Week Four: The Killing Curse: De-Escalation and Avoidance. Week Five: Catch Your Enemy By Surprise: No-Maj Combat Techniques. Week Six –”

“If you’re quite done, I have a lesson to teach.”

“What are you going to do, cast Cruciatus on an eleven-year-old?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Percival said. “I’ll demonstrate the mental theory, and then for exams I’ll use a low-level pain curse like Agonia.”

“You most certainly will not. That’s child abuse. I don’t want to have to tell Tina you got fired on your first day.”

At the mention of Tina, Credence perked up. For the first time all period he looked at Percival, and Percival noticed it so acutely he nearly missed Queenie’s next sentence: “And what do you mean, demonstrate the mental theory?”

“I mean I’ll have someone cast Cruciatus on me, so I can show them how to prepare against it.”

“Don’t be absurd. No one in this room can cast Cruciatus. They’re not skilled wizards, and besides, none of them wants to hurt you badly enough to pull it off.”

“I’ll do it,” Credence said.

“No you won’t,” said Queenie, sounding exasperated. And then: “Sit back down.”

For Credence had stood. He fingered his wand as he stared at Percival.

Percival swallowed but said only, “Thank you, Mr. Barebone. Join me at the front of the room, if you please.”

“Percy!”

Credence ignored Queenie and shuffled to the front of the room. He gripped his wand like a dagger and asked, “What do I say?”

“Casting a spell isn’t as simple as saying it,” said Percival. “You have to have intent.”

“I have intent,” Credence told him.

“Credence,” Queenie said. “Don’t.”

Percival, half mesmerized by Credence’s hollow eyes, said, “You know I’m not him, right?”

Credence said nothing. He pointed his wand at Percival’s throat.

A thick hush had fallen over the room, stifling and dense as cotton. Not one of the children moved, and then Mary Sue burst out, “You’re not really going to let him hurt you, are you, Mr. Graves?”

“Certainly I am,” Percival said. He wondered why she hadn’t asked Credence whether he really planned to go through with it.

Queenie – who, Percival observed from the corner of his eye, was simmering with an unobtrusive but white-hot fury – said, “Why?”

“For Merlin’s sake, Queenie,” Percival snapped. He knew, logically, that this was not at all the same as waiting interminable hours in the dark for a screaming pain that might strike in minutes or never. He had already consciously relaxed his whole body, and his nervous system was primed. Still, his gut churned with the sick anticipation of pain, and he wished Queenie would shut up so he and Credence could get on with it. “How else do you expect them to learn?”

“Some people use books,” Queenie said.

Percival ignored her. To Credence he explained, “The spell is Crucio. Now, in order to grasp the fundamentals of the correct technique –”

“Crucio,” Credence said.

Percival’s brain exploded.

Of course it did not really explode. It only felt that way. But it wasn’t until Percival regained consciousness on his knees, with Credence’s wand still pointed at him and Queenie and Mary Sue both halfway towards him, that he realized he had not expected Credence to be able to cast the spell.

He tried to reassure Queenie and found he was too weak to speak.

“How could you!” Mary Sue shrieked at Credence. She was half his size, but that didn’t stop her from running up and punching him in the stomach. He didn’t even recoil. “He’s a _teacher_!”

“How could _you_ ,” Queenie demanded of Percival as she tried to help him up, but Percival could not stand. He had never experienced such pain. Whenever Grindelwald had used Cruciatus, the pain had lit up Percival’s body like lightning, zooming through his tendons and his muscles. It had never shattered his skull. He felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his forehead, then smashed up his brain and eyeballs, then attached the pieces to fireworks and blown them up.

“Okay,” he croaked. “That didn’t work.”

Awed, Abassi asked, “Are you okay?”

“No,” said Percival. He wanted to lie down on the floor, but he had to show the children how to resist Cruciatus. “Do it again, Credence.”

“No!” Queenie shrilled.

Credence did it again.

But this time Percival was ready. He was relieved to discover that, once one was properly braced for it, resisting Credence’s Cruciatus was much the same as resisting Grindelwald’s. Now that he knew it was coming, he allowed the pain to flow through his head and neck; he acknowledged it, and let it hurt, and moved on. With gritted teeth and leaking eyes, he stood, walked the three feet to Credence and yanked the wand from his hand. The spell broke.

Credence’s mouth creased. If his eyes hadn’t remained so impenetrable, Percival would have said he looked offended.

“There,” he said to the children. The shirt fabric under his arms and between his shoulder blades was soaked in a cold sweat. “That’s how it’s done. Mr. Barebone’s expression of the spell is... unique, but the principle is the same: you must acknowledge the pain without allowing it to affect your actions. Feeling as though you cannot walk is not the same as being unable to walk, you understand?”

“Are you sure?” said Yuri. “Because you looked like you couldn’t walk.”

“That’s because I hadn’t practiced my defense well enough. Which is what you’re going to avoid by practicing it now. Remember, you don’t know where the pain will strike, so you need to prepare your whole body.”

Percival demonstrated as best he could how to relax one’s muscles, how to close one’s eyes and empty one’s mind so time and pain flowed over it like water. He paced around the room, watching the students. Some of them looked skeptical, and some could not sit quietly to save their lives, but some – Yuri and Abassi among them – were silent and still. Some of them Percival asked to physically correct, and then he pressed the visible tension points in their shoulders and necks until their muscles smoothed out and stayed that way.

“You’ll have to practice this every night,” he warned them. “Every minute, if you can. You never know when a curse will strike.”

“This doesn’t feel like magic,” said Yuri.

“In times of crisis, magic never does.”

Outside the Thunderbirds cawed the hour, marking the end of the class period. Percival had never been so relieved in his life. The children streamed out. Soon only Queenie and Credence remained. Percival would have liked to collapse into a chair, but he didn’t want to do it in front of Credence.

He was ready for a Queenie lecture, but it was Credence who spoke. He said, “Will you cast Cruciatus on me?”

“What?”

Credence, his gaze on Percival’s shoes, said, “I want to try it.”

Queenie looked as surprised by the request as Percival felt. “Don’t you dare,” she said. Something about her tone told Percival he’d better not. Which was a moot point, because Percival had not been planning on it. He said as much and added,

“I’m not going to Crucio a kid.”

“You said you would,” Credence pointed out. “For the exams.”

“I said I’d use Agonia. That barely counts as a pain spell. It’s more of a pinprick spell.” To Queenie, he said, “I do know they’re eleven.”

“This is the first I’m hearing of it,” Queenie said.

“I’m not eleven,” said Credence.

“You’re close enough,” Percival replied, although Credence did not seem anything like eleven. He was serious enough to be seventy. “Anyway, run along. Thanks for the excruciating agony, kid.”

Credence stared at him. The impassivity on his face faded a bit, and his forehead creased.

“What?” Percival asked. Credence’s face shut down again, and he scurried out of the room. Queenie, unfortunately, did not. Finally Percival lowered himself into a chair. “Don’t you have to follow him? I hope you’re getting paid; that kid’s a handful. Why weren’t you with him at the beginning of class?”

“He was supposed to wait for me, and he didn’t. Percy, you know you can’t teach the class this way.”

“You’re not going to go on about Agonia again, are you? Because it _is_ harmless.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not worried about the children. I’m worried about you. Percy, people don’t choose to subject themselves to Cruciatus like that. Look at Emily Mendez. She’s been teaching DADA for six years. Do you think she’s ever gone under Cruciatus for – for a demonstration?”

“I’ve explained this,” Percival said. The explanation was starting to feel like lead on his tongue. It was so obvious that he couldn’t believe he had to clarify it at all, let alone why it was so hard to make people understand. “Grindelwald doesn’t care that they’re children. There are hundreds, thousands, of people who do not care. One day, maybe even one day soon – maybe tomorrow! – one of those children will be in someone’s way. Shortly thereafter he or she will be in an excruciating amount of pain. Cruciatus doesn’t affect me, not really, but it would affect one of them very badly. I’m doing it to save their lives, Queenie.”

Queenie looked at him with the sort of anxiety usually reserved for the criminally insane.  “I’m going to call Tina.”

Percival closed his eyes. “Look.” And he raised his mental walls, just a little bit, just enough to show Queenie how clearheaded he was. How right.  
After a few minutes, Queenie sat down. Percival sensed her weight settling, but he didn’t open his eyes.

Queenie said, “Do you really think there’s so much danger?”

“Yes,” Percival answered. “Yes, I really do.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, thank you for your patience! I know this fic is taking a lot longer to churn out than _The Captive and the Animal_ did, and all I can say is that I'm super busy and thanks for sticking with me. Special thanks to verticalized, whose patience is boundless.

Queenie and Percival went to the kitchens so Percival could sneak a late breakfast, and then Percival retired to his rooms to write up an actual lesson plan for his next class. He was teaching the Thunderbirds in the afternoon, and he was hoping not to publicly collapse twice in one day.

Unfortunately, it turned out that Queenie was right about one thing. In a class without Credence, no student was capable of casting Cruciatus. Percival convinced three separate students to try Agonia on him, thinking they could probably at least manage that. One student produced red sparks, one managed nothing whatsoever, and the third waved his wand so hard he fell down. Consequently Percival, though he did demonstrate the theory involved in overcoming Cruciatus, did not think the children really understood what he was talking about.

When class ended, he sat and thought for a while. He needed some way to show the students high-level spells. Finally he hit upon a solution. He went to Meenie’s office.

The Principal’s office was located in the northwest corner of the castle on the top floor. Its door was simple dark wood like most other doors in the castle. In Percival’s day, this door had been guarded by a persnickety and morbid-minded bust of Edgar Allan Poe, who had frequently summoned flocks of sharp-beaked ravens to chase visitors away. Percival had been chased off a number of times and still had a scar on his right shoulder blade to prove it. Now the bust was absent. A nice gold-and-green patterned runner led up to the door. There were also, Percival thought, more windows, although he couldn’t remember if the windows were really a new addition or if they’d just been covered with curtains before. Either way, the once-shadowed and imposing hallway was now welcoming and sunlit.

Percival followed the runner and raised his hand to knock on the door. Something rippled beneath his feet. He looked down.

The swirling pattern on the runner had resolved itself into a face, which was currently glaring up at him from between his feet. In a scratchy voice, it said, “State your name and business.”

“Or else what?”

The runner billowed sharply. Percival lost his balance and stumbled back. He only just caught himself before he fell.

“Any more lip out of you and I’ll send you flying down the stairs,” said the runner. “I get enough of that from the infants. State your name and business.”

Well, it was no flock of ravens, but it was still effective. “I’m Percival Graves,” said Percival. “I want to make a request of the Principal.”

The runner was silent for a minute, presumably communicating the information to Meenie. Then the face on the runner settled back into its original, lifeless pattern, and the door opened of its own accord. Percival went in, carefully side-stepping the section of runner that had had a face on it.

Meenie was in the center of the round room, sitting at a large desk that appeared to be carved of a single slab of grey stone. This room, too, sported more windows than Percival remembered, including a great skylight that allowed sunlight to shine directly onto Meenie’s desk. The carpet was cream-colored, and the room was packed with books and magical devices, all arranged very tidily on stone shelves that jutted from the walls. The only piece of art was a wall-hanging of the same colors and pattern as the runner outside.

“Mr. Graves,” Meenie said without rising. “Excellent. I had planned to call you in to discuss your first day. I hear you have a question?”

“Yes. Can I borrow Queenie Goldstein?”

Meenie’s face went through a succession of expressions: thrown, then confused, then dismissive. “Who? Oh, the Obscurial’s minder. What do you want her for?”

“Well, Credence isn’t an Obscurial anymore, from what I hear. He’s just a kid. Right?”

Meenie waved her hand.

"I need someone to perform attack spells,” Percival said. “I can’t demonstrate attack and defense at the same time.”

“Well, the students are only first-years,” Meenie said. “You ought to be starting them off on theory. Didn’t Emily tell you about the textbook she uses?”

“Emily and I don’t really see eye-to-eye on pedagogical theory.”

“That’s interesting,” said Meenie. “I wasn’t aware that you had strong opinions about pedagogy, Mr. Graves. In fact, I was under the impression that you weren’t really a teacher.”

“You hired me,” Percival said. “I’m a teacher until December, aren’t I?”

“Unless you get fired,” Meenie said.

Percival’s blood froze. Aloud he said, “What the fuck.”

“It’s not a threat,” Meenie said mildly. “Only a suggestion that perhaps you shouldn’t experiment on my students.”

“I’m not experimenting on anyone! I’m teaching them basic safety!”

“I hear you taught the Cruciatus Curse today.”

“I taught _defense_ against the Cruciatus Curse.”

“That’s hardly basic safety, Mr. Graves. At best it’s high-level safety, and at worst it’s torture. I am aware that you need to develop your own, shall I say, methods, and that you cannot necessarily be expected to just copy Emily, although I admit that’s what I expected when I hired you. But let me remind you that you do not, in fact, know what you’re doing; that your particular brand of experience is perhaps best not shared in all its glory with the first-years; and that you are only in this school right now because I owed Seraphina Picquery a favor, and if you put my children in jeopardy, I will remove you from the school’s premises and consider my debt to her paid.”

“I didn’t –”

“You didn’t what?”

_I didn’t know that_ , Percival had almost said. He had thought... he didn’t know what he’d thought. That Picquery had submitted a standard application on his behalf, and that Meenie had accepted him, and it had all been perfectly by-the-book?

Meenie waited for him to finish his sentence, and when he didn’t, she said pleasantly, “Are we clear?”

“I guess,” Percival mumbled.

“Excellent.” She returned to her work. “I will see you at dinner.”

Percival hesitated. She’d called him stupid and presented him with a veiled threat, but she hadn’t actually answered his question. “So... can I borrow Queenie Goldstein?”

“It’s a moot point, isn’t it? If you’re going to be teaching out of the textbook.”

“I didn’t say I was going to teach out of the textbook.”

Meenie paused. “You do realize you might be fired if you don’t.”

“Yeah,” Percival said.

She looked at him for a long moment. At last she answered, “Ms. Goldstein is neither student nor faculty nor staff. I haven’t any jurisdiction over her. If you want her assistance, you’ll have to ask her yourself.”

“Great,” said Percival. “Thanks.”

He beat a hasty retreat and hurried to Pukwudgie Tower with his head down and his fists clenched. Fired. Fired! He’d already been fired from his real job, and now he was going to be fired from his fake job, too! Couldn’t he do anything right? He meant to go to his own room and sulk about it, but instead he found himself jogging to Queenie’s, unable to bear the prospect of simmering alone in his own misery. Queenie’s room was the guest room right above his own. He banged on the door. Queenie, dressed in a navy blue calf-length nightgown and wrapped in a luxurious pink silk robe, opened it. “Percy?”

“Merlin, Queenie, why are you always in your pajamas?” A notion struck him. “Don’t tell me you have company.”

“It wouldn’t be any of your business if I had,” said Queenie. “Anyway it’s only Credence. Are you all right?”

“Let me in.”

Queenie did. Her room was laid out much like his own, but with pink clothes and pretty mugs half-full of hot chocolate scattered over every visible surface. Credence was sitting in the desk chair, which he’d wedged into the corner next to the desk. He had already gotten a head start on glowering at Percival. Percival ignored him and said, “I thought beautiful women were supposed to be good homemakers. This place looks like the model kitchen from _Magical Homes and Gnome-Free Gardens_ threw up in it.”

“Aw, Percy,” Queenie said. “You think I’m beautiful? Tina will be jealous.”

“You know you are. That’s why you prance about in your lingerie.”

“I was not prancing about, I was in the privacy of my own room. And I’m wearing a bath robe, so I’m perfectly decent.”

“Credence will back me up. Won’t you, Credence?”

“No,” Credence said.

Queenie closed the door and sat on the bed. Percival shoved a couple of mugs, a plate of half-eaten apple pie, and a highly impractical fur stole to the side of the desk and sat down on the desk’s surface, which put him directly across from Queenie and next to Credence. Credence bristled a bit but didn’t move away. Percival glanced down at him, already anticipating the blow of Credence’s avoidance, expecting him to be staring fixedly at a random point like he had all during class. He was in for a shock. Credence was gazing at Percival’s face with such intensity that Percival was inclined to ask him to stop.

“Percy,” Queenie prompted.

Percival shook himself. “Right, sorry.” And he presented a rough, uncomfortable outline of what had happened today: how he wanted to borrow Queenie as a sort of personal assistant (and oh, by the way, would she mind?), and how Meenie had threatened to fire him if he didn’t use the goddamn textbook. During the second half of this story, Percival was acutely aware of Credence. He felt he was being awfully vulnerable in front of somebody who obviously hated him. But he’d already spilled his whole life story to the kid during class. And besides, it wasn’t like anything he might say could make Credence hate him more.

“I’m sure she didn’t threaten to fire you,” said Queenie.

“She said I might be fired. That’s an exact quote.”

“Oh.” For a minute they sat in silence. “I suppose you don’t need me after all, then.”

“Hm?”

“For your classes.”

“Of course I do. What’s that got to do with anything? I still can’t Imperius myself.”

“But if you’re going to start teaching out of the textbook –”

“I am not going to teach out of the textbook. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. I even let you look in my head this morning. That textbook won’t teach them anything.”

“Have you even read it?”

“It’s a _textbook_. I told you, Grindewald doesn’t care if his victims are children. If any of those kids encounters him or another Dark wizard, and all they’ve got is a couple lines out of a _textbook_ –”

“Percy!”

“Whaaaat,” Percival started to say. Then he stopped. Queenie was jerking her head at Credence in a way that was probably intended to be subtle.

“I can see you,” Credence said. And: “He’s right about Grindelwald, you know.”

“Oh, Credence,” said Queenie pityingly.

“It’s true. Grindelwald doesn’t care whether someone’s a child or not. Modesty was a child, and he, you know.” Credence hesitated. “Wanted her.”

“ _You’re_ a child, Credence,” Queenie said. Then she covered her mouth.

Credence shrugged and looked at his shoes.

“Technically he is eighteen,” said Percival.

“Percy.”

“He _is_ ,” Percival insisted, but he changed the subject. He didn’t really want to dwell on the subject of whether Credence counted as an adult. “So? Will you help me teach my classes? I’ve got the Horned Serpents on Wednesday and I’d like to have this hashed out by then.”

“I can’t. I have to stay with Credence.”

“He doesn’t mind. Do you, kid?”

Credence was still looking at his shoes, so Percival couldn’t quite see his face, but Percival thought he caught a glimpse of him rolling his eyes.

“Don’t push him, Percy,” Queenie said.

“How am I pushing him? All I did was ask a question. Hey, Credence.” Percival reached out and nudged him, pressing his knuckles lightly into the side of Credence’s face, just between his cheekbone and his ear.

Credence turned his head. Percival opened his hand, intending to withdraw it now that he’d gotten Credence’s attention. Before he could, though, Credence tilted his head so the curve of his face slotted into Percival’s palm. His eyes were closed. He didn’t seem self-conscious at all. In fact his movements seemed almost instinctive.

His skin felt very smooth.

“Hey, Credence,” Percival repeated, but he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to say after that. He ran his thumb over the upper edge of Credence’s cheekbone. Credence shivered a little and turned his face even more, so the base of Percival’s palm touched the corner of his mouth.

“Um,” Queenie said.

Credence’s eyes flew open. He jerked away from Percival so fast he slammed his head against the stone wall. “Ow!”

Queenie leapt up, but Credence all but shoved her away. “It’s fine,” he said. “What? I mean, sure, teach his class.” He pushed his chair as far back as it would go, which wasn’t much. He was already wedged in the corner, but it was clear he wanted to get away from Percival and Queenie both.

“Are you sure?” Queenie said anxiously. “I wouldn’t want you to feel too alone during the d–”

“ _Yes_ , I’m sure!” Credence jumped from his chair and stormed out, refusing all eye contact. He slammed the wooden door behind him.

“He must have pulled that door really hard,” Percival remarked. His throat felt thick, and his right hand, the one he’d held Credence with, was too warm. “Those things are heavy. Look, Queenie, you can’t coddle the kid like that. He’s practically an adult.”

“He’s _suffering_. He needs kindness and gentleness.”

“I can be kind and gentle!”

“Yes,” Queenie said, “I noticed that.”

Percival’s face heated up. “Hey, whoa, whoa.” He tried to think of an argument and came up with, “Uh.”

“I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, Percy,” said Queenie, although Percival felt that she’d spent the last two days doing precisely that. “But be careful. Don’t do anything that might lead to someone getting hurt.”

“I would never hurt him.” Percival was appalled at the very suggestion.

Queenie shook her head and said, “I didn’t mean just him.”


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of the first week went smoothly enough. Percival did not see Credence again except in the dining hall, and then only from a distance. Queenie couldn’t muster Cruciatus to save her life, but she did manage a halfway decent Agonia for Percival’s lesson with the Horned Serpents. Percival rarely went to the faculty lounge, but he ate most of his meals with the faculty, and although Meenie rarely acknowledged him beyond a polite greeting, Percival felt he was getting along well with the other teachers. No one mentioned the possibility of his firing, and no one behaved oddly around him, so maybe he was in the clear. Maybe Meenie had talked to Picquery and Picquery had ordered her to keep Percival around. Or maybe she’d realized that Percival wasn’t a child-torturing monster after all.

Soon Monday rolled around again, bringing the Pukwudgie and Wampus first-years with it. This time Percival was not late. If anything he was overprepared. He entered the classroom with a minute-by-minute lesson plan, a proper attendance sheet, and an armful of copies of the morning’s _New York Ghost_.

The students saw the newspapers and groaned.

“We’re not using the textbook,” said Yuri, “but you’re going to make us read a whole newspaper?”

“Unlike a textbook, a newspaper contains useful information,” Percival replied, distributing the papers. He gave one to Queenie, who was sitting in the front row in her new place of honor as Percival’s assistant. Credence had sat in the row behind her. “Michael, take that gum out of your mouth. Nancy, get that giant spider out of my sight right now and if I see it again I’m going to demonstrate today’s Unforgivable Curse on it.”

The student with the gum swallowed it. The girl with the spider, who was one of Mary Sue’s trio, grinned at Percival, folded the fist-sized spider’s legs into its body like she was closing a makeup compact, and put the wriggling creature into her handbag.

Percival shuddered. “Thank you, I guess. Okay, does everyone have a copy of the _Ghost_? Great. Who wants to read out the front-page headlines for us?”

“Germany Admitted to Wizarding Government Council,” read Abassi as Percival returned to the front of the room.

“Public Health Director Reginald Fitz Claims Distribution of Dragon Pox Cure ‘Forthcoming’,” said Mary Sue.

“Excellent. How about the second page?”

A rustling ensued as the students turned the pages of their newspapers, and then there was an awkward silence during which nobody made eye contact with Percival, and then Yuri heaved a long-suffering sigh and read a couple of headlines.

“And the tenth page?”

Another, longer rustling, plus some whispering. Percival waited. Even Yuri was unwilling to put herself in the line of fire this time. It was Credence who finally said in his low baritone, “No-Maj Stock Exchange Experiencing Growth.”

“Great. Thank you. Now, what do all of these headlines have in common?”

“They’re all boring,” Michael-with-the-gum called.

“The news frequently is. What else?”

“They’re all... new?” Mary Sue tried. Her friends snickered at her. She scowled.

“Don’t laugh,” said Percival. “Mary Sue is right. Defense Against the Dark Arts is typically regarded as a sort of one-size-fits-all subject – we’ve been practicing roughly the same defense spells since Byrhtnoth the Bold devised the basic principles for his war against the Vikings in the year 991. But we’re not fighting Vikings, are we? We’re fighting shadowy European nationalist organizations headed by cunning lunatics like, er, Gellert Grindelwald. That requires a different strategy. _Every_ situation requires a different strategy, and the only way you’ll stand a fighting chance of figuring out the proper one is by knowing what you’re up against.”

“My father says Gellert Grindelwald is a fake terrorist the government made up to shackle the American people,” called Michael.

Percival opened his mouth, closed it again, bit his tongue so hard he drew blood, covered his face, uncovered his face, avoided eye contact with Credence and Queenie, and said, “Thank you for your opinion, Michael.”

Tentatively Mary Sue called, “Mr. Graves, are you okay?”

“Certainly I am. Anyway, all this background is simply an introduction to your weekly Current Events assignment. I expect you to take these newspapers with you when you leave this classroom, read them closely – okay, fine, at least read the headlines; quit looking at me like that, Queenie – and write a one-page essay on what you’ve gleaned of the global situation, particularly the situation here in America.”

The students sent up a collective groan. “This doesn’t feel like magic either,” Yuri complained. “When are we going to do magic?”

“You would know when if you had looked at the syllabus.”

“Mr. Graves, no one ever reads the syllabus!”

“Speaking of which, Percy,” Queenie interjected, “are you really going to start your spellwork unit with the Patronus Charm? That’s highly advanced magic.”

“Ooooooh,” chorused the children, as Percival said, “Queenie, please stop interrupting my class.”

Nancy said, “Can we do the Patropus instead of this newspaper stuff?”

“No. Also, your work on the ‘newspaper stuff’ counts as fifty percent of your final grade.”

“Mr. Graaaaaaves!”

“And now,” Percival said, ignoring the litany of complaints, “we will transition into Unit 2: fighting off the Imperius Curse. Queenie, if you please.”

“Who’s she?” demanded Mary Sue as Queenie floated to the front of the room.

“She’s a friend of mine from New York,” said Percival, not wanting to embarrass Credence. “She’s going to cast the Imperius Curse on me so I can show you how to fight it off. Who can tell me what the Imperius Curse is?”

This time, a couple of students actually did raise their hands.

“Abassi.”

Rather to Percival’s surprise, Abassi hazarded, “It lets you control people?”

“Great! Yes. Exactly. Now watch.” Percival gestured to Queenie and braced himself. “Queenie’s going to cast it on me, and I’m going to fight it off. Queenie, don’t make me do anything humiliating.”

“Percy, I’m not one-eighth the witch I’d need to be to cast a working Imperius.”

“It’s not that hard. It just requires focus.”

But instead of nodding and casting the spell, Queenie frowned. Her eyebrows drew together. Suddenly she wasn’t so pretty and confident anymore. In fact she looked like she might cry.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Queenie shook her head hard.

Okay. Time to backtrack. Percival said hastily, “Well, it’s probably a better idea to, uh, start with something smaller for the kids anyway. What about Compulsus?” Compulsus was a lower-level puppeteer curse, the Agonia to Imperius’s Cruciatus.

Queenie took a deep breath and nodded. She pointed her wand at Percival. “Compulso.”

Choppily her will crept into Percival’s head, but Percival could tell that Queenie’s Compulsus wasn’t very strong. Grindelwald’s Imperius had been tremendously forceful but short-lived – a result of Grindelwald’s almost unique combination of extraordinary power and poor control – which was why Grindelwald had decided to lock Percival up and take his place instead of just controlling Percival directly. Under Grindelwald’s Imperius, Percival had felt as though a wall of steel were shutting his body off from his mind. The same steel had wired around Percival’s bones and muscles, controlling his movements and even some of his thoughts as smoothly as if Percival’s body were an extension of Grindelwald’s own. Queenie’s Compulsus, on the other hand, was like a little fluffy animal crawling curiously around inside Percival’s body. The sensation was bizarre but not unwholly unpleasant. Whether Queenie was weak-willed or simply out of practice was impossible to say, but either way it actually required some effort for Percival to slow down the process of rejecting her long enough to describe the process to the students.

As the animal wriggled into Percival’s right hand and started jerkily wiggling his fingers, Percival explained, “You see how the movement in my hand is all spasmodic? That’s because it’s not me doing it, it’s Queenie. Good job, by the way, Queenie.”

Queenie smiled weakly. The students went, “Oooooooh.”

“The trick with this one is to parse out your own thoughts and desires from those of the person controlling you. This, like a defense against Cruciatus, requires a lot of advance work, almost meditative work, because you have to know yourself really well in order to be able to identify the differences between yourself and someone else when the other person is inside your head. Does that make sense?”

The students mostly looked blank, but Credence was nodding.

“So, here, I can tell that Queenie’s moving my fingers, not me. It’s her will, not mine, because it _feels_ like hers, not mine. And I can sort of – this is going to be difficult for you to understand without experiencing it, but we’ll get to that – I can slide my own will into the space that hers is occupying, and –”

Percival did it, and the little animal was driven from his body. Queenie faltered and lowered her wand.

Percival flexed his fingers. “Like that. So there’s no room for the foreign will anymore, and consequently you control your own body again. You’re no longer Imperiused. The interesting thing about fighting the Imperius Curse is that it really has nothing to do with how talented or magical you are, and almost everything to do with how strong-willed you are. Does anyone want to try?”

Nearly everybody’s hand shot up.

One at a time Percival called on the students and controlled their hand movements as Queenie had done to him. On Queenie’s suggestion he used Compulsus instead of Imperius, and he went very, very easy on them. Even so, Michael, who went first, was hopeless. So was Yuri. Mary Sue, whom Percival had expected to be hopeless, actually surprised him by regaining control of her hand for a brief second, although she lost it again almost instantly. It appeared that Abassi was going to be the best – he was unable to block Percival, but he was able to keep him at bay, so that Abassi’s fingers neither wiggled like Percival tried to make them do, nor fell completely still, but instead twitched bizarrely – and then it was Credence’s turn.

The children were quiet. Presumably they were remembering the previous week. Percival felt that he and Credence were getting along a little better now (and Credence was only a few feet away, one more step and he’d be as close as he’d been in Queenie’s room), but still he acknowledged to himself that he was rather grateful that he did not have to submit to another of Credence’s Unforgivable Curses. Soon the boy was before him, shuffling his feet and looking at Percival’s shoes. He held his right hand so it hovered between them.

“Compulsus,” said Percival.

The spell did not work.

Percival frowned. “Compulsus,” he repeated. It was no use. His will bounced off Credence’s like a rubber ball off a brick building. “Did you feel that?”

“Feel what?” Credence said, brow furrowed. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“On the contrary,” Percival replied, feeling rather sheepish. “You’re doing it so right I can’t even work the spell.” There was an awkward pause, and then: “Well, you can sit down, I suppose. Who’s next? Nan–”

“Can I,” Credence began as Percival spoke Nancy’s name. Percival stopped and waited. Credence faltered, then said, “Can I try Imperius?”

“On me? No thank you.”

“No, I want... I want to block it.”

“Oh. No, you can’t. I don’t imagine the administration would be too happy with me casting Unforgivable Curses on students.”

Credence looked sullen, and Percival turned to Queenie for support. But Queenie, back in her front-row seat, wasn’t really paying attention. “Queenie,” Percival said, “tell him I can’t Imperius him.”

Distractedly Queenie said, “Hm? Why can’t you?”

“Because it’s illegal, that’s why!”

“Oh,” said Queenie. She shrugged. It was clear her mind was elsewhere. She still seemed a little upset from earlier, Percival thought. What could she possibly be so bothered about?

“It’s probably fine as long as you don’t make me do anything bad,” Credence mumbled. “It’s only practice.”

“Do it, Mr. Graves,” called Nancy.

“Maybe he can’t,” Yuri stage-whispered.

“Yes he can,” said Mary Sue indignantly. “Show them, Mr. Graves!”

“Well...” said Percival. “As long as Credence is a consenting party, I suppose...”

The students cheered.

“Fine,” Percival said. “Just the once, and just for demonstration.” He glanced at Queenie again, but she was looking at the clock and jittering her left leg. So Percival faced Credence, who was braced as though for a punch to the stomach, and said, “Imperio.”

Percival had only cast Imperius twice in his life – once on a member of a crime ring to extract information, and once, unsuccessfully, on Grindelwald – but he had no trouble with it now. Immediately his will slithered into Credence’s body, slipping like light or water into the empty spaces between his bones. Percival left Credence’s mouth free so Credence could protest, but Credence did not. He looked shocked. His eyes were wide and white.

“Horrible, isn’t it?” said Percival. He raised Credence’s hand high above his head. “Useful, though. Now you’ll know what to expect when a hostile party does it. Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” said Credence, screwing his eyes shut. His hand still hung in the air. “It feels –”

“Feels like what?”

Credence didn’t answer. He shivered, which was something Percival hadn’t made him do. Percival’s will sloshed a little, receded, gave up space.

Percival frowned. “Hey,” he said.

And then, without warning, he was driven out.

Credence dropped his hand. He and Percival stared at each other.

“Wow,” Michael whispered.

Percival didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t break Credence’s gaze. The boy’s defense had not been like Grindelwald’s, which had been as ironlike as his Imperius. Instead the empty space that Percival had filled up had simply rushed back in. Percival had been forced out by a vacuum, by a void.

“Well done,” he said at last. Credence flushed. “Nancy. Your turn.”

* * *

When class was over, Percival, who had missed breakfast again, beat a hasty retreat and tried to go to the kitchens. But instead he found himself in one of the secret passageways to the teachers’ lounge. He tried to get out, but someone shouted, “Percival!” and the next thing he knew Emily had trotted up next to him. “Are you going to the lounge?”

“No, I was actually going to the kitchens.”

“Oh, come to the lounge. Everyone’s there.”

“As a matter of fact, that’s the very reason why –”

It was no use. Emily steered him to the teacher’s lounge and crowed, “Look who I found!”, and Kit, Henry, and Aphrodite all raised their eyes to him.

“Oh, good,” said Henry, to Percival’s surprise. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. How do you know that Queenie woman?”

“ _Henry_ ,” groaned Aphrodite.

“Sit down, sit down,” said Emily. She settled down on the couch beside Aphrodite and patted the space next to her, and Percival had no choice but to sit. “I like Queenie; I’ve never talked to her, but she seems nice. You know her from New York, right?”

“Yes, we worked together.”

“Really?” said Kit doubtfully. “She worked in the Department of Magical Security?”

Emily bristled. “Why wouldn’t she?”

“You know why,” said Kit.

“She doesn’t work for Security,” said Percival. “She works for Wand Licensing.”

Kit scoffed. “See?”

Percival began dryly, “She’s also a born Legi–”

“Did you work in Wand Licensing, too?” Henry asked. “Is that what you were doing on your year off?”

“What?”

“The first-years were talking in my class about how you said you took a year off from MACUSA. What were you doing?”

“Oh, I meant to ask you about that, too, Percy,” said Aphrodite. “Didn’t you say you were an Auror before coming here?”

Percival’s heart was starting to beat too quickly. “I was.”

Everyone waited.

“Did you take a year off?” Henry prompted.

“I – I took a sabbatical.”

“I thought this was your sabbatical,” said Kit.

“A different sabbatical.”

“I didn’t even know government employees got sabbaticals,” said Emily.

“Is that why you weren’t in New York during the whole Obscurial business?” Aphrodite asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” said Aphrodite, nodding, and Henry said, “Well, where’d you go?” and then Kit said, “But you said you were away on business when that happened,” and everyone thought about it for a minute and then looked at Percival again.

Percival was shaking. He sat on his hands and looked helplessly at Aphrodite and Emily, but they only blinked at him, oblivious and curious. He had to say _something_. Things would only get worse, and he was already skating on thin ice. What to say? What parts of his soft heart and lungs could he bear to these people? He wanted to hide, wanted to be in New York or the countryside or outer space, wanted to be with Tina and Queenie, wanted to be with Credence, wanted to be alone.

He took a deep breath. “I got caught up in some of – the fallout from Grindelwald’s affairs.”

There was a stunned pause. Kit said, “Wait, what?”

“It was fine, but there was, um. I had to take some time off.”

“Grindelwald’s affairs? Like the attacks? What does that mean?”

“I don’t like to talk about it.”

A heavy silence.

“Oh,” said Kit.

“ _Oh_ ,” said Henry.

“Oh dear,” said Aphrodite, sounding an awful lot like Queenie. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” said Percival again. His voice splintered. He shut up and scrambled to his feet. “I’m going to go. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Percy –”

“Hey, man, I didn’t –”

“Grindelwald’s _affairs_?”

Percival dashed to his room and lay down in his clothes and put his head under the pillow.

* * *

He never got his breakfast, and he didn’t get lunch. He was hungry and distracted for his class with the Thunderbirds, which was made even worse by the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to go to dinner either. But around dinnertime someone knocked on his door. Expecting Queenie, Percival, rumpled and starving, opened it.

It was Emily and Kit.

Promptly Percival tried to close the door. Emily was too quick for him, though. She wedged her foot in the gap.

“We wanted to apologize,” she said quickly. “Didn’t we, Kit?”

“Yes,” said Kit, without any apparent sarcasm, although Percival was pretty sure he could have found some if he looked hard enough.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Percival said. “Excuse me.”

“Why don't you come to dinner with us?”

“Thank you, I’m not hungry.” Percival’s stomach chose that moment to send up a massive roar. Emily, bless her, was quite graceful about it. Percival winced. Kit barely managed not to raise his eyebrows.

“We’d quite like it if you came,” said Emily earnestly. “Aphrodite and Henry feel just awful.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, but I don’t see how it’s any concern of mine. Will you move your foot, please?”

“We won’t ask you any more questions about your personal life,” Kit said. “We figured you were just being snotty because you’re a fancy Auror and didn’t want to talk to us. We didn’t know there was, like, a _thing_. Come to dinner.”

“I don’t want to,” Percival insisted, but Emily had already grasped his hand and was soon maneuvering him down the hallway, her arm looped through his. Percival balked when they reached the dining hall, but Emily and Kit marched him to the faculty table.

And actually, dinner turned out to be rather pleasant. Even Meenie exchanged a few words with him (although Percival would have bet money that she hadn’t heard about his Imperius lesson yet). Percival knew the teachers were only being kind because they pitied him, and he tried to be upset and resentful about it, but all the same it was rather nice to feel welcome. He glimpsed Credence sitting with a bunch of other first-years, towering head and shoulders above them all. Credence didn’t seem uncomfortable, though. He didn’t talk much, but the others jostled him and laughed and sometimes swapped their food with his, and once or twice Percival caught Credence smiling. Where was Queenie? There she was, at a table near Credence, by herself. That was unusual, but Queenie was so gregarious that it made sense that she’d want to be alone some of the time. Although, now that Percival thought of it, she seemed to be alone an awful lot these days.

He resolved to ask her about it and was immediately tugged back to the faculty conversation by Emily asking him if he’d ever climbed the Empire State building.

By the time he remembered Queenie, she was gone. The hall had largely emptied out. Meenie had left, as had Kit. Henry, Aphrodite and Emily drank the last of their ice water and departed. Percival stayed behind to finish his dessert.

Credence was still here, sitting with a first-year Wampus and another student. Percival averted his eyes and bit into his butterscotch bar.

As the creamy sweetness burst over his tongue, he heard or rather felt approaching footsteps. At first he thought it was Emily or Henry coming back, and then, as the person arrived at Percival’s table and hovered over him, he was struck with the overwhelming and indisputable knowledge that it was not Emily or Henry at all, it was Credence, Credence, Credence. He didn’t even have to look at him.

“Mr. Graves,” Credence said.

Percival could not speak. His mouth was full. He made an incoherent noise and glanced up at Credence with what he hoped was a dignified expression.

“You have crumbs on your face,” Credence told him.

Percival reddened, glared, swallowed, wiped his mouth. Rather more snappishly than was probably necessary, he asked, “What do you want?”

Now Credence reddened, too, and took a step back. “I – never mind.”

Merlin’s beard. “Oh, now, don’t be like that.”

“Never mind,” Credence repeated. He took another step back and turned, his shoulders hunched, his head down. He started walking quickly toward the exit.

Percival clambered off the bench and jogged after him. “Come on, kid, you can’t expect a guy to be friendly when he’s got his mouth full of butterscotch bar. What’s up?”

Credence didn’t answer, but he did sneak a peripheral glance at Percival, which Percival took as encouragement. He followed Credence to a classroom-lined hallway on the third floor, which led to Wampus Tower. There Credence finally stopped and faced Percival, staring at him with that fixed black gaze. He still didn’t speak, though.

“What?” Percival said for the umpteenth time.

“I – I wanted to talk about the Imperius Curse,” Credence answered slowly. He took a step toward Percival. Percival’s intestines shivered, but he didn’t move away. This hallway was lighted with floating candles like the ones in Percival’s bedroom, and with the yellow light flickering off his shoulders and his hair Credence looked powerful and handsome. Like a true wizard, not like a student.

_But he_ is _a student_ , Percival reminded himself. He made himself put his hands in his pockets. “What about it?”

“I think – I think I was cheating.”

“You can’t cheat. It’s magical defense, not a game of cards.”

“But I didn’t use the strategy you said I was supposed to use,” said Credence. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“It seemed pretty clear to me that it does work,” Percival said dryly. “What’s your method?”

“I didn’t use one.” Credence rocked back and forth on his toes. “I already, um, sort of understood what you said, about identifying your own thoughts. I had to do that when I lived with Ma. That’s my mother, I mean was my mother. Anyway, she was always... we were very, um, she had certain beliefs about how people should be, and she was always trying to make me believe them too, and I had to practice, I think. Practice what you said.”

Percival said carefully, “What did I say?”

“About – clinging to your own personality,” said Credence. “When another one is trying to get in the way.”

That wasn’t quite what Percival remembered saying, but he supposed the principle was likely the same. But something else was niggling at him. “Not that I mind, and of course I’m always happy to work through DADA theory with you, but... why are you telling me this? It seems a far cry from last week’s torture session.”

Even in the yellow light Credence’s blush was evident. He dropped his gaze from Percival’s. “I’m sorry I did that.”

“Don’t be. I told you to do it. You’re a very powerful wizard, Credence.”

The flush on Credence’s cheeks deepened. His eyes flicked up to Percival’s face, then back down. “I thought you were him. You look like him.”

“He looked like me.” Percival’s voice sounded too sharp, even to his own ears. “Don’t get it confused.”

Credence clearly _was_ confused. But still he said, “Sorry.”

He didn’t say anything after that, until Percival prompted, “Well?” He knew he should change the subject, or better yet get out of this dimly lit, secluded hallway and away from Credence’s body, but he wanted to know the answer to his question. “What changed? It’s not like I look any different.” He ruffled his own hair self-consciously. “Do I?”

Demonstrating the same lack of awareness that he had displayed yesterday, Credence let his fingers float up to cup his own cheek. “I don’t know,” he said. His voice was low and soft.

Percival, helplessly, took his hands out of his pockets.

Credence’s eyes flicked up to Percival’s again and locked on this time. Percival took a stumbling step forward. Credence did, too, and Percival’s blood jumped, and then Credence, startled as a deer, shuffled back three steps and turned and fled.

He might as well have broken Percival’s ribs. “Credence!” Percival called, starting to run after him, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say or do, and so he fell back and let Credence disappear.

He stood in that hallway for a long time, alone and a little bit cold. Then he exhaled and trudged back to his own room, leaving the candlelight behind.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delayed updates on this fic! There has been a lot of Real Life in the way. But I'm still gonna finish it! I'm still gonna finish it.

The week progressed. Percival tried to talk to Queenie after their lesson with the Horned Serpents, but she only laughed and said, “I’m fine, Percy, what are you talking about?” and really, she did not seem to know what he was talking about, so probably he’d just made it up. Now that he was socializing with the faculty somewhat, the days actually clicked by much faster. Quite soon the third week began, and Percival settled down to the troublesome task of teaching small children how to cast a Patronus Charm.

“I’m telling you, Percy, you ought to start them on something easier,” said Queenie. She was sitting at his desk, filing her nails, while Percival collected the students’ Current Events essays. “Even most full-grown wizards can’t manage a Patronus. You’ll just frustrate them.”

“This is the best defensive spell there is,” Percival argued. “If they only learn one spell in their lives, this should be it.”

“They _won’t_ learn just one spell in their lives. This is a school.”

Percival ignored her. “Who knows what a Patronus is?”

No one knew.

“It is a defensive spell,” said Percival. “It is used to drive off a cruel or inhuman evil. Who has heard of Dementors?”

Several students raised their hands, although Michael was already talking out of turn. “Britain uses them to guard prisons,” he announced. “My father says it’s monstrous.”

“Even a stopped clock is right twice a day,” Percival said. “That’s correct, about the prisons. A Dementor is a type of wraith that feeds on human souls, and a Patronus, you know, is the only spell capable of defending against one. That may give you an indication of the Patronus’s power.” Percival twirled his wand. Once upon a time he had been able to conjure a Patronus almost effortlessly; now it was a strain. But he knew he could still manage it. He had practiced last night. For hours. “Queenie is correct. The Patronus Charm is very advanced magic, and most of you will not be able to do it, at least not right away. Most Patronuses are incorporeal, a wisp of silver. But the most powerful Patronuses will take the form of an animal, like this...”

Percival closed his eyes and summoned his happiest memory. It was the moment, seven years ago, when he had called Tina into his office, and told her he’d been keeping an eye on her, and in his opinion she was the brightest witch among the Aurors-in-training, and he wanted to hire her as a junior Auror for his own department, and certainly she could have a week to think about it, but what did she think of that?

Tina’s whole teenage face had lit up. She had dropped her wand and clapped her hands over her mouth. Percival had not been able to suppress a grin.

He remembered the scene now – her excitement, her delight, the warmth and pride that had suffused his bones – and said, “Expecto Patronum.”

The spell thrummed through him. The students gasped. Percival opened his eyes, and there was his hawk, winging about the room.

“It used to be bigger,” he admitted, but the sight of it still brought a smile to his face. It was part of him, his hawk, an embodiment of his soul, and although it was smaller and more ragged than it had once been, with an ugly scratch along one flank, it was still his. He held out a fist and it fluttered to him and landed, digging its claws gently into the thin skin of his hand.

“The form of a Patronus will be unique to the caster,” Percival explained to the students, who were still gawking at the silver hawk. “It reflects some part of your personality, and you will summon it by focusing on the purest, happiest memory you have. Now. Who’s ready to try?”

Everyone cheered with excitement. Yuri actually clapped her hands.

Percival wrote the incantation on the board and set them to it.

Thus proceeded an hour of frustration, quite unexpected focus on the part of the students, and Percival repeating himself constantly. He told them about a thousand times that he did not expect any of them to succeed, here and now, in conjuring a Patronus, which was good because none of them did. He was with Abassi, instructing him to empty his mind, when Mary Sue and Yuri crowed almost simultaneously. They had been practicing together, and both had produced a wisp of translucent, almost invisible, silvery smoke.

Queenie actually gasped.

The girls’ success spurred the other students forth. By the end of the class Abassi had produced a similar wisp. Three untested children managing incorporeal Patronuses was more than Percival had ever dreamed possible. Some of the students, though, were only too happy to escape at the end of class. Michael, in particular, seemed awfully irritated at his inability to cast the spell. Oh well. He would learn.

As usual, Queenie and Credence were the last to leave. Percival had left Credence alone during the lesson, preferring to help the children, and also trying not to touch Credence if he could help it. Credence was still seated, gripping his wand with whitened fingers. His expression was blank, but his eyes were hard.

“You okay?” Percival asked.

“Don’t worry, Credence,” Queenie said. “I can’t conjure a Patronus, either.”

“Yes, but you’re not as good at magic as I am,” Credence snarled.

Queenie’s jaw dropped. She closed her mouth quickly, but an ugly dark flush was already climbing her cheeks.

“Hey,” Percival snapped at Credence. “Say you’re sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“It’s quite all right, Percival,” Queenie interrupted. Percival startled. She had never called him Percival before. “He’s an adult, isn’t he, he can be rude if he wants.” She whirled and stalked out of the classroom.

“What? Hey, Queenie!”

But Queenie could do a dramatic exit better than anybody, and she did not come back.

Percival sighed and returned his attention to Credence. Credence was scowling.

“That was very rude,” Percival said.

“It’s true.”

“It’s still rude. Why would you say that to her?”

“She follows me everywhere,” Credence said. “I hate it.”

Credence’s expression of emotion was so genuine, and it was accompanied by such vitriol, that Percival backed off a little bit. “Okay,” he said. “I would hate it too. But that’s no reason to be cruel.” And then, when Credence reddened but didn’t answer: “Are you frustrated about the charm?”

“I can’t do it,” Credence said.

Percival supposed that if he had been struggling with a spell at eighteen, it would have been awfully frustrating to watch an eleven-year-old pull it off. Of course, that had never happened to Percival. Percival had been top of his class every year. “If you want,” he began, and then he hesitated, but it was too late, “if you want, I can give you private lessons. If you and Queenie –” No. Credence was an adult. “I mean, if you’re comfortable with that.”

Credence rubbed the back of his neck.

“You don’t have to, of course,” Percival added, already feeling awkward and miserable and weird and old. “You are a very good wizard, Credence, and I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it eventually, and at any rate there are millions of perfectly competent witches and wizards who never master the Patronus Charm.”

“When?”

“Hm?”

“When can we do lessons?”

“Oh.” Percival’s brain scrambled. Suddenly he was quite sure this was not a good idea. His mouth, though, disagreed. It said: “Eight o’clock?”

“Tonight?”

Was this appropriate? Was it even allowed? “Yes, unless you –”

“No, tonight’s all right,” Credence said. He blinked at Percival for a few seconds in that disarming way he had, then abruptly gathered his things. “Goodbye.”

_Oops_ , Percival thought, but he could not bring himself to really feel bad.

* * *

That evening, while Percival was polishing his desk for about the fiftieth time, a knock sounded at the door. From the quick, musical pattern he identified it immediately as Queenie.

His heart sank a little, automatically, even as he told himself it was probably for the best. Oh, why was everything so difficult? He didn’t quite trust himself to be alone around Credence, and yet Credence _was_ a supremely powerful wizard, one who deserved proper nurturing and tutelage of a sort that Percival didn’t think Queenie could give him. And what made it worse was that Percival liked Credence. He liked the young man whose spare body contained enough raw power and self-possession to cast a Cruciatus Curse. He liked the hesitant but determined fellow who’d thought hard about his abilities and his history and his personality, and who had wanted to share what he’d learned with Percival. He liked the quiet, sharp-boned, unselfconscious kid who’d leaned into the hollow of Percival’s hand.

“Oh well,” he said to himself, and opened the door.

There was Queenie, sure enough, and there was Credence. This was the first time Percival had seen Credence in casual clothes. He wore a pair of neatly pressed gray slacks, and plain lace-up black shoes, and a jewel-green sweater. He looked nice.

“You look nice,” Percival told him. Credence turned scarlet.

Queenie rolled her eyes. She peered past Percival into the room. “Good heavens, Percy. I didn’t realize you were so... orderly.”

“I was famous for my organizational skills at the Ministry.”

“Mm,” said Queenie. “Is that what you think you were famous for.”

“I suppose I was also famous for my incredible magical talent,” Percival said, letting Queenie and Credence in. Queenie sat on the bed. Credence stood around with his hands in his pockets, then ambled over to examine the bonsai tree.

“It’s a dawn redwood,” Percival told him. Credence looked blank. “It’s a sort of tree that grows on the mountains of china.”

“It looks to me like it grows in a box,” Queenie said. She had a curious way of delivering insults – her voice was so musical, it took you a second to realize they were insults.

Percival turned to her, intending to say something cutting, but actually Queenie did not look well. Her hair and clothes were impeccable, of course, but beneath her makeup her face was clearly paler than usual, and she hadn’t managed to cover the dark circles under her eyes. “Are you all right?”

“You keep asking me that.”

“ _You_ keep asking _me_ that,” Credence said.

“I was not speaking to you, Credence,” said Queenie primly.

“So? I’m allowed to talk. Aren’t I, Mr. Graves?”

Whatever this was, Percival wasn’t getting in the middle of it. He held up his hands and backed away as far as the little room would let him.

“Certainly you are,” Queenie replied. “I think you’ve made it clear that you can say anything you want. Don’t let me bother you, then. Get along with your little lesson. I’m just here to chaperone.” She looked pointedly at Percival.

It was good that she was here, Percival reminded himself. With as much earnestness as he could muster, he said, “Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh, no. I’m not capable of the kind of magic that you and Credence here can do.”

Percival looked at Credence. Credence was scowling at the bonsai. Queenie had crossed her arms and was watching the floating candles. She reminded Percival of a marble statue he’d once seen in Boston. It had been called _Medea_. If he recalled correctly, Medea was that Greek woman who’d murdered all her kids.

Percival sighed. “Credence, I told you to apologize.”

Credence sulked.

“Queenie, you’re a phenomenal witch,” he said to her. “You’re a Legilimens, for Morgana’s sake.” He tried to convey with his eyes also that Credence, in addition to being an adult wizard with power beyond most wizards’ wildest dreams, was also an impetuous eighteen-year-old who’d suffered an abusive childhood and had been openly manipulated by a criminal mastermind, and that as a consequence, sometimes he was going to say things he didn’t mean.

“Oh, quit going cross-eyed at me,” Queenie snapped. She stood. “You don’t need me, do you?”

“No, but –”

“Good.” She opened the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast, Credence.”

“I’m not going to breakfast,” Credence yelled at her back.

Queenie tried to slam the door, but it was too heavy. She left it and stormed down the hallway. Slowly, the door swung shut on its own.

“You can’t be that upset about the Patronus Charm,” Percival said. “Practically no one can do it. It doesn’t make you a bad wizard or anything.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing _wrong_ ,” Credence said. His body was compressed, his head sunk down between his shoulders, his arms crossed over his chest and his hands jammed up into his armpits. “The spell _feels_ right. I’ve cast some spells in Charms and Transfiguration, and this one feels the same, with the magic. But then it gets stuck.”

Magic manifested differently in different people. Percival was interested to know what it felt like to Credence, who’d spent his entire life suppressing it. “What do you mean, it feels the same?”

Credence struggled. “I can feel it here” – he pointed to a spot near his stomach, which was interesting; Percival’s magic welled from his heart – “when I cast a spell. I don’t know how to explain what it feels like. Like the opposite of –” He paused.

“The opposite of the Obscurus?”

Credence’s jaw was set. After a moment, he nodded.

“Fascinating,” Percival said.

“And normally it sort of –” Credence kept on halting, whether from embarrassment or inarticulateness Percival couldn’t tell, but he always started talking again – “keeps going? Spreads through me, until I’m done with the spell. But with this one it keeps getting stuck.”

“Stuck where?”

“I don’t know.” Percival waited. After a minute, Credence said, “Around my heart, I guess. In my ribs.”

“What’s your happiest memory?”

“When I killed my mother,” Credence said.

What a weird, creepy joke, Percival thought. “No, really. What memory are you using?”

Credence was quiet. He stayed quiet for such a long time that eventually it occurred to Percival that perhaps he was not joking. Percival said, “Did you...” and then he thought that maybe he shouldn’t ask if Credence had actually killed his mother, and then he said, “Did you actually kill your mother?”

“Yes,” Credence said. “Well. The whatsit, the Obscurus, did it, but I did it too.”

“Um,” Percival said. “Okay.” Tina had told him that the kid had had a traumatic childhood, and he knew Tina had been fired for cursing Credence’s mom, but, like. Wow. “Okay. So. Regardless of your feelings about that –”

“She deserved it,” Credence said fiercely. “She was going to hurt Modesty.”

Percival had to get out of this conversation right now. “Look, I’m not going to pass judgment on your extrajudicial murder of your mother. I’m just saying that whether or not she deserved it isn’t –”

“I didn’t kill her on purpose,” Credence went on. He was starting to talk very fast, and he was looking Percival in the face now. “The Obscurus did the actual killing. My Ma was going to, she was going to teach us a lesson, she did that sometimes. She did it a lot. Only mostly it was me she taught, and this time it was going to be Modesty. And... I got angry.” He took a deep breath. “The Obscurus used to come out when I was angry. Only it didn’t feel like... like a beast or a parasite, like Mr. Scamander said it was. It felt like me, like a part of me. I didn’t know it was a separate thing. I didn’t know I had changed into it. It just did what I wanted to do.”

“...And what you wanted to do was kill your mother.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean to,” Credence repeated earnestly. “I didn’t try to do it. It just happened. Because of the Obscurus, you see?”

Percival got the sense that Credence was backtracking. “But you just told me that’s your happiest memory.”

Credence’s gaze dropped again. “I don’t have that many happy memories,” he said. And then: “I didn’t kill her on purpose, but I’m glad she’s dead.”

Percival didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, Tina hadn’t been kidding when she’d said the kid had had a traumatic childhood. And something about Credence – a queer combination of defiance and vulnerability that pushed its way to his face when he spoke – made it easy to see what made Queenie go all mother-hen. On the other hand, Credence was talking about how he’d killed his mom. It was... well, scary. Equally scary was the fact that there were obviously some conversations that Credence needed to have, and Percival wasn’t equipped to have them.

And what was more, however Credence might feel about his mother’s death, the memory of it was not suitable for casting a Patronus Charm. Percival said as much.

“Why not?” Credence asked.

“Because it’s not purely happy. Even if you are glad about what you... what happened, that gladness is only possible because a bunch of other feelings – rage, defensiveness, loneliness, guilt – are involved in that same event. You need a clearer, smaller, purer memory. Preferably one that doesn’t have death in it. What else do you have?”

Credence looked blank.

“Maybe you went to a theme park when you were little? Did you ever go to Coney Island?”

“My mother said theme parks were tools of the devil,” Credence said.

“Hmph. A time when you ate something particularly nice? Your first chocolate bar?”

Credence’s brow furrowed. “We mostly ate soup.” He thought. “One time I sneaked a lollipop from a store, but Ma beat me afterward.”

“Okay, so not that.” Percival wracked his brains. “What about something with Tina? You like Tina, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So, what about when you met her?”

“Oh, no,” Credence said, shocked. “I was worried Ma was going to kill her. It was awful.”

Percival rubbed his face. The kid had to have _some_ memories that didn’t involve his mother. “All right, how about this. I know you’ve only been here two weeks, but do you have any happy memories from your time at Ilvermorny? Ooh, I know – have you been to a party at the top of South Spire yet? Do they still have those?”

“I’m not allowed at the top of the spire,” Credence said. “That’s Pukwudgie Tower. And I haven’t been to any parties.”

“You’re not allowed into the dorms. Anyone can go to the top of any of the towers. You’ll have to visit them all when you take third-year astronomy, because they all reveal different areas of the sky. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Credence looked dubious, but he followed Percival into the hall and up the stairs to the sixth floor. “Keep walking up these stairs and you’ll reach the dorms,” Percival explained, crossing the landing. He unlatched the window and pushed it open. “But, if you go through here...”

Credence stuck his head out the window, looked at the mist-shrouded lawn far below, pulled his head back and shook his head.

“You won’t fall,” Percival said. “Look.” He clambered over the windowsill, which fortunately was set low for this very purpose, and dropped.

He heard Credence scream.

At the same second, his feet hit the invisible grate, and the iron latticework stairs that spiraled around the tower shimmered into view. Surprised at Credence’s horror, Percival glanced up. Credence was leaning half out the window, still frozen in the process of reaching for Percival. His mouth was open, stunned.

“Aw,” Percival said. “Were you worried about me?”

Credence shut his mouth and glared. “You could have died!”

“This from a boy who murdered his own mother,” Percival said. The instant the words were out he wanted to take them back, but Credence didn’t seem hurt. In fact the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Percival swallowed his guilt and his interest in Credence’s mouth and reached up toward the window. The jump was only about six feet. “Come on. I’ll catch you.”

“You can’t catch me. I’m too heavy.” Credence eased his legs over the ledge and crouched, balancing with one foot on the windowsill. He gripped the edge of the window.

“I’m very strong,” Percival said. “Try it.”

“I shouldn’t need you to catch me,” Credence said. “You didn’t need anyone to catch you.”

“You want to do it yourself?”

“No,” Credence said, and took a deep breath, and jumped.

Percival caught him. Credence flailed as he fell, so his chest thunked into Percival’s and his limbs wrapped around Percival like a sloth’s. Credence buried his face in Percival’s neck and clung tightly. His breath and body were warm.

“Hey, now,” Percival said softly. “I’ve got you.”

He expected Credence to let go and act defensive or embarrassed, but Credence didn’t. Credence only gripped him tighter, digging his nails into Percival’s shoulders and back. His legs were wrapped around Percival’s body, and he was shaking a little bit.

“You don’t like heights?”

“I don’t _like_ jumping out of sixth-story windows.”

After a few seconds, Credence took a deep, shuddery breath and lowered his legs, feeling for the platform while still maintaining his death grip on Percival’s shoulders. When his feet hit the solid grate, he relaxed visibly. Then he made the mistake of looking down. He stiffened.

“The stairs are visible,” Percival offered, pointing.

Credence squeaked, “Do we have to walk to them?”

Percival sighed.

“What if we fall!”

“Come on.” Percival hoisted him up again and carried him the six feet to the stairs, where he set him down gently. “See?”

Credence sat down and put his head between his knees.

“You’ve got a lot to get used to,” Percival commented, “if you can’t even handle an invisible grate.”

“I can’t get used to _any_ of it,” Credence said, his voice muffled. “The pictures talk. And when you finish your food at any meal they bring you more.”

Percival was silent.

“I threw up the first night because I didn’t realize they were going to keep feeding us and I didn’t have any money to buy more food. I just kept eating.”

Percival closed his eyes.

“And everybody looks at me funny,” Credence went on. “Not the other first-years, but the rest of the students and all the teachers. Principal Thomas and Mr. Plimp and Ms. Nettle especially.”

“And me,” Percival supposed aloud, a little bitterly.

Credence looked up. “No, not you.”

Somehow Percival doubted that. He felt like he spent about eighty percent of his waking hours looking at Credence.

“Queenie does, though,” Credence said. He put his head back between his knees.

“That’s only because she loves you,” Percival said. “She’s just trying to look after you.” But the words felt hollow. He knew Picquery loved him, for example, in her own severe authoritative way, and she’d still sent him away under the pretense of looking after him. That pretense hadn’t made the action any less painful, and frankly, it also hadn’t made it any less obnoxious. Percival could imagine that Queenie’s constant fluttering might come across the same way.

“I don’t care.”

“Come on.” Percival held out a hand. When Credence didn’t notice it, he nudged the side of Credence’s head with his knuckles, just as he had a few weeks ago in Queenie’s room. Again Credence turned his head instinctively, pressed his face into Percival’s hand. Credence sighed.

His heart aching, Percival asked quietly, “Credence?”

“Mmhm.”

“What do you remember about him?”

Credence’s forehead creased, but he didn’t move away from Percival’s hand, and he didn’t open his eyes. “Not a lot.”

“Really?”

“Mr. Scamander says I blocked it out.”

Percival wished he could block it out. He remembered every agonizing second of his captivity. He particularly remembered the impossible roughness of the unbreakable ropes around his wrists and ankles and mouth, and he remembered the way the darkness, practically as tangible as cotton, had pressed against his eyeballs, hour after hour. He remembered the Cruciatus Curse, and how it had been worse when Grindelwald was angry – which, he imagined, had been the days when he was frustrated in his search for the Obscurial, for Credence. He remembered vividly the day when Grindelwald had left Percival’s wand in Percival’s cell. Percival had striven for ten hours to reach it and failed. He caressed Credence’s neck, the shell of his ear.

“All I remember, really,” Credence mumbled, “is that at first he wanted me, and then he didn’t.”

“Ssh,” Percival whispered. He had asked because he had expected Credence to say, _I remember the way he touched my face like this_ , and Percival knew that after he heard those words he would no longer want to touch Credence’s face. But now, sliding closer to Credence, sitting next to him on the step, cupping Credence’s face in his hands, he didn’t want to hear them anymore.

“I remember what he looked like,” Credence added suddenly. He opened his eyes.

“Don’t,” Percival said. He was so close to Credence now, maybe six inches from him, maybe five. He had put his hands on Credence’s neck. Credence’s pulse beat under his palms. And Credence hadn’t moved away.

“He looked like you,” Credence said.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Percival repeated, anguished, but it was too late. He had already remembered with blinding clarity what it had been like to lie bound on the floor and watch Grindelwald take his form. Grindelwald’s default expression – a kind of flat wild arrogance – had marred Percival’s own face. It had been like meeting the worst parts of himself, and in that moment Percival had lost a little hope.

He let go of Credence and turned away from him.

“I don’t mean now,” Credence went on. “I don’t think you look like him now.”

“Of course I don’t,” Percival said to the sky. “He’s blond.”

Credence gave a stifled snicker. The corners of Percival’s mouth turned up against his will.

“Mr. Scamander showed me a picture of him from after they captured him,” Credence said. “He looked...”

“Insane?”

“Mean.”

It was such a simple word, and it felt so inadequate. But the more Percival thought about it, the closer he came to the conclusion that Credence had probably hit the nail on the head. He nodded. “He is mean.”

“I think that’s why I don’t think you look like him anymore,” Credence said. “You’re not mean.”

It was true. Percival knew he was a wreck, incompetent, antisocial, a terrible Auror and likely a terrible teacher; but he also knew that he was not mean. He’d originally gone into Auroring because he’d wanted to help people – Picquery had called him a damn fool, but there it was – and now that he was a teacher, he was determined to help the children in his charge, even at the expense of getting himself fired. Surely there was some merit in that, in the desire to provide some benefit to the world at any cost. His spirits lifted a little. He glanced over at Credence, smiling. “Thanks.”

Credence smiled, too. Very tentatively, like a tamed rabbit, he leaned his head on Percival’s shoulder. Percival wanted to kiss him very badly. What was worse, he thought Credence wanted it, too. And as Percival had said and thought many times, Credence was an adult.

But he was also a student. Percival had a responsibility to be a decent human being and a good teacher. Percival was, at this very moment, supposed to be tutoring him, not gallivanting about the South Spire and calling up to him at windows like some bizarre magical version of Romeo and Juliet.

Percival groaned.

“What?” Credence asked.

Percival allowed himself three seconds, just three, to wrap his arm around Credence and hold him close. The warmth of Credence’s body, the gentle movement of his breath and heartbeat, soaked through Percival’s clothes and into his bones. Percival took a deep breath and let go. “Come along,” he said, standing. “I said I’d show you the roof.”

“Oh,” Credence said. But he followed Percival willingly enough. They went up the stairs together, around and around and around the tower, up and up and up. Percival was finally acknowledging to himself that perhaps his old bones were not as equipped for this walk as they had been when he was seventeen, when the edge of the roof came into view.

The roof was wide and flat and round, its low wall edged with crenels and telescopes. In Percival’s day the floor of the roof had been bare, but someone had since laid down a great round carpet, apparently enchanted to depict the sky above it. All around the tower were stars, some seemingly close enough to touch: big blazing white ones, little red ones, distant ones gathered into galaxies, stars orbited by planets, stars orbiting each other.

“This is the fourth quadrant of our galaxy,” Percival explained. “You can see the other quadrants from the other towers. Do you know what a galaxy is?”

Credence did not answer. He was staring directly upward, and he appeared to have been struck dumb.

“Credence?”

“No,” Credence managed, in a voice barely above a whisper. “A what?”

“A galaxy. It’s a collection of stars.” And some other stuff, too, but Percival wasn’t about to confuse Credence with talk of interstellar media. “It has our whole solar system in it.”

“Solar... system.” Credence lowered himself, shakily, until he was sitting on the ground. “It’s magic?”

“No. Ilvermorny’s telescope system” – Percival flapped a hand – “is magic, but solar systems and galaxies are just natural objects. Like flowers, only impossibly large and hot and far away.” He sat next to Credence. “Actually, I think all the most interesting astronomy work is being done by No-Majs. Have you heard of Edwin Hubble?”

“No.”

“Two years ago he discovered stars in galaxies _outside_ of ours, using only math and a big telescope. Ooh, you should’ve read Celestina Mulgere’s opinion piece on it. She’s the biggest witch working in astronomy today, and she was _furious_.”

“Why?”

“Well, it ruins all of our work, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You will,” said Percival, with satisfaction. “You will.”

Then they sat in silence. After a while Percival sneaked a glance at Credence. He was still staring at the gently wheeling stars, amazed and stupefied. The awe on his face was so delightful, so pure, that Percival said on impulse, “Try the Patronus again.”

The words seemed to startle Credence back into reality. He did as Percival said, without success. His wonder-struck expression faded a bit. Percival cursed himself. “That’s my fault,” he said. “Of course this isn’t a purely happy memory. We just spent ten minutes talking about Grindelwald.”

“We could try again,” Credence said. “I could come back next week, and you could show me something else.”

“Oh,” said Percival, surprised. “Do you want to?”

Credence shrugged and looked at the floor. “I don’t know. I guess.”

“Well,” Percival said. “You still haven’t mastered the Patronus Charm, so if you think the lessons would be useful to you...”

“Yes please,” Credence said quickly.

“All right.” Briefly Percival wondered if there was something not-quite-kosher about having weekly private tutoring sessions with Credence, but surely it was okay, as long as he didn’t actually do anything irresponsible. Queenie hadn’t minded leaving him alone with Credence tonight, after all, and Queenie would never put Credence in a situation where he might be in danger. Percival was totally a responsible adult. Everything was fine. “I’ll see you next week, then.”

Credence smiled.

Percival stood and held out a hand and helped the boy to his feet. Together they went back down the stairs and clambered through the window.  
When Percival went to bed that night, he was unable to think of anything but the fact that Credence had been in this room. Credence had stood over there, next to the window and the tree, and if he were still there now he would be only a few feet away, and Percival would not be able to stay away from him.


	9. Chapter 9

Credence returned the following week, the evening after Percival’s lesson on fending off Avada Kedavra. The lesson mostly consisted of explaining that you could not fend off Avada Kedavra, no, Michael, not even if you were one of the best wizards of all time, like Merlin or Albus Dumbledore. Percival also demonstrated various conflict de-escalation techniques that mostly went over the students’ heads, although Abassi and the girls seemed to have a strong handle on them.

As she had before, Queenie dropped Credence off and then left. Percival and Credence practiced the Patronus Charm. It did not work. Then Percival showed Credence the secret passage behind Ida’s tapestry. (“Trysting with the students, are we, Percy?” “Be quiet, Ida, it’s educational.” “Ooh, I bet it is!”) The secret passage led to the kitchens, and Percival spent the rest of the evening watching the house elves introduce Credence to a number of magical sweets.

The next week in class, Percival taught some tricks of No-Maj hand-to-hand combat. “Wizards will only ever expect you to attack with spells,” he explained, “so sometimes you can catch them off guard with a good punch.” The students turned out to be not nearly violent enough to practice any of the techniques properly. Queenie, on the other hand, pulled off a quite tricky maneuver, wherein she grabbed Percival’s wand hand, twisted it behind his shoulder blade, and flipped him over onto his back. It was humiliating. That night Percival and Credence returned to Ida’s passage. A fork in the passage led out of the castle to Harrisburg, the little town at the foot of the mountain, and was enchanted to shorted the four-hour walk to ten minutes. In Harrisburg Percival showed Credence the city hall and the local cemetery with its famous roses, and he bought Credence a candy bar and a soda pop.

And so on, and so forth. The weeks clicked by. Percival spent several classes teaching mid-level dueling techniques, which the children liked a lot. Queenie no longer deposited Credence on Percival’s threshold for their private lessons, but sometimes, when Percival spoke to Credence in class, Queenie would smirk knowingly. Percival didn’t like that. He was being appropriate and decent, for Merlin’s sake. On the other hand, Queenie seemed to have separated from Credence quite a bit. She occasionally came to Percival’s room just to socialize, leaving Credence who-knew-where, and she had stopped accompanying him to most meals.

By Halloween, Percival was actually starting to settle in. He liked the kids. For the most part they were funny and bright, if also maniacal little chatterboxes. He liked being at the front of the classroom, knowing that here at least was a community that would be impressed with him, that would not treat him like a failure or a casualty. He could not help feeling on edge around the faculty, but he’d gotten used to them, and they treated him quite normally. The semester was already half over, so presumably the probability of his firing had dropped off, since it would be a tremendous hassle to replace him now.

He had even developed a routine. (Percival had always liked routine.) On Sundays, for example, he liked to wake early and devote two hours before breakfast to reading the Sunday _Ghost_. On the morning of Sunday, October 31, Percival woke as usual, dressed, padded down to the kitchens to sneak a cup of tea, picked up his paper from the owlery, glanced in passing at the first page, and dropped his teacup. It shattered. Hot tea and porcelain shards spilled across the floor.

The owls squawked. Percival stood in the middle of the poo-splattered owlery with tea soaking into the soles of his slippers, his skin feeling as cold and brittle as thin ice.

GELLERT GRINDELWALD ESCAPES HIGH-SECURITY LOCKDOWN, the headline read.

The paper slipped from Percival’s grasp. His hands were shaking too hard to hold it. Carefully he lowered himself into a crouch, right there in the middle of the owlery, and pressed his eye sockets against his knees. In the darkness behind his eyes he focused hard on what he’d taught the students – relax your body, pain can hurt you but it can’t stop you, remember who you are – and took ten tidy, deep breaths. Then he left the owlery without picking up the newspaper. He couldn’t read the rest of the article. He couldn’t.

He speedwalked to the fireplace in the teachers’ lounge. The lounge was mercifully empty. He stoked the fire and cast a communication line to the fireplace in Picquery’s house. When the blaze turned acid-green, he stuck his head into the flames.

“Picquery!” he shouted, even before the room had swum into view. “What’s all this about Grindelwald escaping? Just because I’ve been exiled to New Hampshire doesn’t mean I don’t have a right to know about...”

Percival trailed off. Picquery wasn’t in her living room. Which was fine, it was seven in the morning on a Sunday, except Percival knew for a fact that Picquery always got up at six on Sundays and by six-thirty was situated by the fire with a stack of paperwork and her third cup of coffee. Also, Percival could see her armchair from here, and there was a thin layer of dust on it.

“Picquery?” Percival called again, gripping the hot logs. “Seraphina?”

His voice echoed off the walls.

Behind him, Kit said, “Percival?”

Percival yanked his head from the flames and gasped like he’d been rescued from drowning.

Kit helped him up, grimacing. “Guess you saw last week’s _Wizards_ magazine, huh?”

_Wizards_ was a tabloid. “Huh?”

Kit looked stricken, like he’d let something slip, but it was too late. “Uh... they said Grindelwald had escaped from prison and done some damage within the government, and that Congress was on lockdown. No one’s been seen entering or leaving Congress headquarters for, um, well it had been a couple days when the article came out. But Emily keeps telling me it’s just a tabloid, so we shouldn’t worry too much. Yeah?”

“The _Ghost_ reported it this morning,” Percival said numbly. “It was the front-page headline.”

“Oh.” Kit was quiet.

Percival lay down on the floor. “A week,” he said. “Grindelwald broke out a week ago and no one told me.”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Percival said. He rolled over and pressed his face into the wood floor.

“Hm,” Kit said. A moment later Percival heard his footsteps moving away. After an indeterminate amount of time he returned with a second set of footsteps.

“Oh, Kit, what did you do?” Aphrodite’s voice asked.

“I didn’t do anything. He says there’s a headline in the _New York Ghost_ that You-Know-Who broke out.”

“Gellert Grindelwald,” Percival said loudly to the floor. “I’m not afraid of his name, you know,” even though he was, a little bit.

“Did you read the article?” Aphrodite asked sternly.

“No.”

“You ought to have. They’re not positive Grindelwald escaped. That rumor only got launched because access to MACUSA’s headquarters has been shut down, and no one’s been able to get a statement from the President. But no one’s heard anything definitive about Grindelwald, and the head of the Press Corps gave a statement today saying everything was fine.”

“Who, Stanley Chip? Is he the only government employee anyone’s seen in a week?”

“I’m sure not, Percy, but –”

“Because it’s not like Grindelwald’s ever impersonated a high-level government official before! Oh, heavens, no!”

Kit made a noise that Percival didn’t care to decipher.

Aphrodite said, “Well... I’m sure it’s nothing, and honestly, Percy, it’s unprofessional to lie on the floor like that.”

“I just tried to talk to Picquery,” Percival said, while Aphrodite hauled him off the floor. “She didn’t answer.”

“I’m sure she’s busy with all this nonsense.”

“The President’s friends with Meenie, isn’t she?” Kit said. “Maybe Meenie knows where she is. You could ask her.”

“He doesn’t need to ask anybody anything,” Aphrodite said. “Everything’s fine. Oh, Percy, won’t you sit still?”

For Percy had tugged away from Meenie and was half-stumbling, half-jogging to Meenie’s office. Kit and Aphrodite both followed, Aphrodite trying to get him to stop and Kit trying to get _her_ to stop, but nobody stopped. Soon they were all crowded together on the runner leading up to Meenie’s office, shouting at the doorkeeper. Percy was saying, “I want to talk to Meenie, I want _facts_ ,” and Aphrodite was saying, “Everything’s quite all right, there’s no need to bother the Principal,” and Kit was managing to talk very loudly even though he had nothing to add to the conversation. The runner billowed furiously, but Percival and Aphrodite held their ground. Finally the doorkeeper shouted, “I can’t TAKE it anymore!” and retreated into its carpet and opened the door.

Percival was first into the office, beating Aphrodite by half an inch. Meenie was sitting at her desk. She raised her eyebrows at him. She looked the same as ever – compact, composed, not a hair out of place – and her very presence, so clean and appropriate, was enough to embarrass Percival and his tea-stained shoes. Which was rather a relief, in a way. He would complain to Meenie, and Meenie would set him straight, and then he would retreat to his room and hate himself like usual. All would be right with the world.

“I want to know where Picquery is,” he said defiantly. “And I want to know why no one told me about Grindelwald escaping.”

Before Meenie could respond, Aphrodite said, “Because he hasn’t escaped, Percy. It’s just a rumor. Meenie, I tried to tell him.”

“The _Ghost_ doesn’t print rumors! It’s not a trashy tabloid! The _Ghost_ prints _news_!”

“Hey, man,” said Kit, injured. “Don’t be elitist.”

Aphrodite sighed. To Meenie she said, “Would you please tell him there’s nothing to worry about?”

Meenie did not say anything.

Percival, to break the suffocating silence, repeated, “I want to know where Picquery is.” And then, because he literally could not help himself: “I just contacted her and she didn’t respond, and she’s _always_ home at this time on Sundays, and there was dust on her chair, and –”

“I’m afraid I haven’t spoken to Seraphina since the twentieth,” Meenie said.

Percival’s heart sank. “Well... how often do you normally speak to her?”

“I’m sure everything is fine, Percival,” Meenie went on. Percival’s heart sank even further. “Seraphina’s a capable witch. Even if Grindelwald had escaped, which I find unlikely, our President would be able to handle herself.”

Percival didn’t say anything.

“That said.” Meenie’s voice took on a slight hesitant tinge, which Percival had never heard from her. “You may want to continue teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts according to your preferred method. With demonstrations, that is, not with the textbook.”

Percival was suddenly, sickeningly certain that he was going to throw up.

Kit began, “Is there...”

“I hear his hands-on method is popular with the students,” Meenie said smoothly. “That’s all. Percival, the next time I hear from Seraphina, I’ll be sure to let you know, all right?”

“...All right.” No one was ever going to hear from Picquery again.

Meenie dismissed them, and the trio went somberly into the hall and down the stairs. Kit and Aphrodite hesitated like they wanted to say something, but Percival left for the South Spire without giving them a chance to say it. There was only one person Percival trusted to understand how he felt right now, and that person was a teenager in the Wampus Tower dormitories. But Queenie would do.

She opened the door when he knocked. She was wearing a rose-colored faux-fur bathrobe and matching slippers, eating a cinnamon roll the size of her head. On her bed was a copy of the morning’s _Ghost_. The headline blared at Percival from across the room.

“Are you all right?” she asked. She offered him the plate of cinnamon roll.

Percival walked across the room, knocked the newspaper to the floor, and collapsed on her bed. “They’re all dead,” he said. “They’re all dead.”

Queenie went white. “Who?”

“Everyone. I contacted Picquery and she didn’t answer. No one’s seen a Congressperson for a week. Grindelwald –”

“Oh.” Queenie relaxed, though Percival didn’t see what there was to relax over. “They’re not dead, Percy. They’re just isolated. Tina managed, somehow, to get word to Newt, and he owled me last night. Congress set up a lock-down system in case Grindelwald escaped. Everyone who’s ever been in contact with him has been contained, and they’re all being questioned. That includes Tina, and the President, and, well. A lot of people.” She managed a big Queenie smile, all reassuring white teeth. “But they’re all safe. I promise.” And she force-fed him a piece of the cinnamon roll.

The sugar rush grounded Percival a bit, shocked him out of his funk. He sat up and took the plate from Queenie. “Does Credence know?”

“I don’t think so.”

Percival took another giant bite of the cinnamon roll, trying to control himself. His heart was hammering a mile a minute, his skin prickling with cold sweat, because he couldn’t help being terrified that Grindelwald would hunt him down, that his flaring hair and milk-white skeletal face would appear over his bed in the dead of night. But logically he knew that he was no use to Grindelwald anymore. He hoped no one had told Credence that Grindelwald had escaped; he didn’t wish this fear on him. “Maybe he won’t find out.” He remembered what Kit had once said. “At least he’s safe. He’s not an Obscurial anymore, and Grindelwald won’t bother with this kids’ school.”

Queenie giggled a little.

“What?”

“Oh, Percy.” Then she caught his eye and sobered. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Percy, can’t you tell? Grindelwald wants him.”

“Why would Grindelwald want him now! There’s no Obscurus!”

“Grindelwald doesn’t care about the Obscurus,” Queenie said. “Not anymore. Now he wants the wizard powerful enough to contain an Obscurus for eighteen years.”

“How do you know!”

Queenie sighed. Her fingers tangled together in her lap. “Interrogation got it out of him right before Credence was due to enroll.”

“What? And they let Credence come here anyway? Without any protection?”

“I’m the protection, Percy. Of course Credence doesn’t really need a chaperone. He’s an adult, for Merlin’s sake. He needs a bodyguard.”

Percival’s head spun. “So... you lied to me?”

“We didn’t want him to find out,” Queenie said miserably. “No one here knew except me and the Principal. Tina and Newt wanted to come, but the President wanted them both in New York in case of... something like this. Besides, I might be able to catch Grindelwald coming.” She tapped her temple.

“He’s a skilled Occlumens. You didn’t identify him when he was masquerading as me.”

“Yes, but he was working at MACUSA, where he was surrounded by Legilimens. Perhaps if he doesn’t know I’m here, he won’t bother with the Occlumency.”

“Wh... what are you going to do?”

“Do?” Queenie looked surprised. “What am I supposed to do? I’ll sit tight and keep my mind out for Grindelwald, and I’ll keep looking after Credence.”

“You’ve got to do _something_ ,” Percival said, almost unable to believe his ears. “You’re his bodyguard, and a Legilimens. Let him know the warning signs and what he’s up against. Teach him Occlumency so he can defend himself. Tell him –”

“I don’t know Occlumency,” Queenie retorted. “And you just said yourself, we don’t want to scare him. I’m not telling him or teaching him anything. Why don’t you teach him how to cast a Patronus properly? That’s the defense spell he’s going to need. Why don’t you let him know the warning signs? You’re the Director of Magical Security.”

“No I’m not! I’m a failure! I’m a crappy substitute teacher! You’re close to him, and it’s your job to look after him, so you ought to – ”

“I’m a terrible witch!” Queenie cried. “And Credence knows it. Haven’t you heard him?”

“Oh, please. He’s just an angsty teenager who lashes out sometimes. You can’t pay attention to that.”

“I can’t do anything, Percy! I’m a full-blown Legilimens and I couldn’t even get a job in Interrogation, that’s how lousy my spellwork is.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Percival said. “I’ve seen your charm work, it’s perfectly adequate.”

“Adequate,” Queenie scoffed. “You and Tina are Aurors, Newt’s the world’s foremost magizoologist and Credence is an ex-Obscurial. But I’m adequate. Okay.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Ilvermorny’s been awful,” Queenie went on. She swallowed and fixed her glassy eyes on the ceiling. “I wanted so badly to come, and it’s – it’s been awful. I don’t have any friends, I miss my sister, Credence hates me, the faculty doesn’t talk to me, you don’t talk to me, I’m not even a good assistant because I can’t work the spells –”

“You’re a great assistant.” Percival wasn’t sure how they’d switched topics so fast. He loved Queenie, but somehow her personal angst didn’t seem quite as monumental as the fact that Grindelwald was coming. Oh, no, oh, no, no, no. “And everyone loves you.”

Queenie just shook her head. She kept her eyes open very wide.

“Queenie, I... I’m sorry, but Grindelwald. Credence.”

Queenie sighed. “You’ll have to be the one to teach him, Percy. You’re a better wizard than I am. Don’t try to console me; my feelings haven’t anything to do with it. Besides, you know Grindelwald, and I don’t.”

“Yes, but I don’t know how to defend against Grindelwald,” Percival said, feeling as though he were stabbing himself in the gut.

“You’ll just have to teach Credence how to work a Patronus. It’s the closest thing to an all-purpose defense spell there is.”

“I’m trying, but it’s not working. He just gets frustrated.”

Queenie settled on the bed next to him and laid a gentle hand on the back of his neck. “I think you’ll have to start by making him happy.” And then: “It’s okay if that makes you happy, too, you know.”

Percival knew it was useless to play dumb. “He’s a _kid_.”

“No he isn’t,” Queenie said. “He’s eighteen. You’ve pointed that out yourself. A number of times, actually.”

“I’m forty!”

Queenie rolled her eyes. “If he’s old enough to defend himself against the western world’s most feared wizard, he’s old enough to kiss someone he likes.”

Percival spluttered for a while and then buried his face in the pillows.

“I’m just saying,” said Queenie primly. The warmth of her arm passed over him as she reached out and plucked the last bite of cinnamon roll off the plate.


	10. Chapter 10

By Monday morning, Percival’s brain felt like it had been put through a meat grinder. He couldn’t stop thinking about Queenie’s words – _he’s old enough to kiss someone he likes_ – and then, without fail, he would think of Credence, Credence’s neck, Credence’s hair, the defiant hunch of Credence’s shoulders, all haloed by Percival’s bedroom window. Then he would wrench his mind away, and of course it would fall on Grindelwald, on the excruciating and diamond-clear memories he’d spent most of the last year trying and failing to bury, and from there it would flit to terror and worry for Picquery and Tina and himself and Credence, and then he was back to Credence again – _he’s old enough to kiss someone he likes_ – but did Credence like him? Did Credence like him like _that_? Had he said something to Queenie? What, exactly, had he said? Oh, this was stupid, Percival was forty years old, he wasn’t a goddamn teenager, Credence was the teenager, but still Credence was old enough to kiss someone he liked –

Over and over again.

He didn’t get much sleep.

He walked into the Pukwudgie-Wampus lesson stiffly, avoiding Credence and Queenie. If he could just get through this, then he could talk to Queenie again, and then he would have several hours to mull over her words before Credence’s lesson tonight. But Mary Sue derailed his train of thought by calling, “Where are the newspapers?”

Percival jumped. “What?”

“Are we not doing the Current Events assignment this week?” Abassi asked. Yuri whispered, “Yesssssss.”

“Oh,” said Percival. He hadn’t even thought of the newspapers. After yesterday, he never wanted to see a newspaper again. “No, we’re not. I thought I’d give you a break from that, since we’re getting into the dueling-intensive portion of the semester, and I don’t want you to be too exhausted for the thorough finals review we’ve got coming up.”

“Nooooooo!”

Once they stopped protesting, though, the class went smoothly, or as smoothly as Percival could make it considering his inner turmoil. Credence paused when exiting to confirm the evening’s private lesson, and Queenie gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. Percival tried to catch her, but she floated after Credence, and she wasn’t in her room when he knocked on her door.

The faculty gave him a wide berth at lunch and dinner.

After dinner, Credence came by as usual. He was wearing the same gray slacks as always, a short-sleeved white shirt (the house-elves had the fires roaring constantly since the weather had grown cold), and his black shoes, scuffed from a lack of recent polish. By now he’d grown comfortable with Percival and his space, so he came right in and sat on the bed, looking at Percival expectantly.

Percival sat in the desk chair, which was about three feet from Credence. The distance felt simultaneously too close and much too far away. He looked at Credence for a minute, long enough for Credence to start blushing, and Percival was sure he was blushing too, but even though they’d been having these sessions for over a month, he was at a loss of what to say. _He’s old enough to kiss someone he likes._ “How are you?”

Credence shrugged. “I still can’t do the spell.”

“Well, I’ve told you, the spell is largely based on your emotional well-being. So, how are you?”

“Did you cancel the Current Events assignment because of the _New York Ghost_ ’s front page?”

Percival’s mouth went dry. “How did you – did Queenie –”

“I’ve been doing the assignments in advance,” said Credence. “I don’t read as fast as some of the other first-years” – he said this with only a shade of embarrassment – “so it takes me longer.”

“Where do you get the newspaper?”

“There are free copies in the dining hall,” said Credence. “Where do you get them?”

Percival had been paying for them out of pocket, but he wasn’t about to tell Credence that. “Magic.” Credence’s mouth quirked, the way it always did when Percival said something that might or might not have been a joke. He seemed fine, but Percival wasn’t reassured. He repeated his original question: “How are you?”

Again, Credence shrugged. “I showed the headline to Queenie. She said Tina and Mr. Scamander are okay, and that he probably won’t come here, and if he does I’ve got protection now. So there’s nothing to worry about, right?”

“Credence,” Percival said. “How are you.”

Credence shuffled his feet. With the air of one delivering a fatal blow, he said, “How are _you_?”

“I’m a fucking mess. But I’m not the one trying to learn the Patronus Charm.”

Another shuffling, deflecting pause. As Percival watched, Credence’s body settled into its default position. His shoulders hunched over, his neck retreated between them, he lowered his gaze and creased his forehead, he pressed his knees together and drew his legs close to his body, he crossed his arms over his chest and gripped his elbows tensely. And he still wouldn’t answer the question.

Percival answered it for him. “You’re also a fucking mess.”

Another mouth-quirk. Credence nodded reluctantly, then glanced sidelong at Percival in a way that twisted Percival’s stomach into knots. Percival went to the bed and sat next to Credence, but he didn’t touch him. He didn’t have any confidence that Credence wanted him to.

After a moment, Credence repeated something he’d said to Percival the night they’d visited the roof: “At first he wanted me, and then he didn’t.”

Percival, his throat swollen, said, “I think he might want you now.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re very powerful. And Grindelwald likes power.”

“I’m not powerful. I’m a first-year. I can’t even do one of these,” presumably meaning the Patronus Charm.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Grindelwald himself can’t perform a Patronus. Dark wizards tend not to be very good at them. It doesn’t mean he’s not one of the most powerful wizards around.” This was turning out not to be much of a pep talk. Percival felt even worse about it when Credence said in a small voice, “I’m not a Dark wizard.”

“I know. That’s not what I meant. Come here.” He put an arm around Credence. He intended only to give him an age-appropriate side-hug, and thus was quite surprised when Credence swung his legs into Percival’s lap and curled tightly into the curve of Percival’s arm, like a turtle fitting into its shell. Percival found himself putting both arms around Credence, noticing in almost excruciating detail the hot corded muscles of his bare arms, and nestling his face in Credence’s soft black hair, which smelled of cheap orange-scented shampoo.

 _Oh, dear_ , Percival thought. “Credence...”

Credence clung tighter, actually digging his nails into Percival’s chest. Percival liked it tremendously. “You’re a powerful wizard,” said Credence. “Right?”

Percival squeezed his eyes shut. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

“Yes you are. You can do everything. You can summon a Patronus, you can perform all those jinxes, you can counter the Unforgivable Curses...”

“That’s not power. That’s, I don’t know, sheer determination.”

“That’s power,” Credence said decisively. “It is, Mr. Graves.”

Percival wasn’t so sure, but he couldn’t muster a convincing argument. He was too distracted. Credence was breathing on the hollow of his throat. He pushed Credence away, not completely, just enough that the heat of Credence’s body no longer bled into Percival’s skin. Enough to look him in the face. “What’s your point?”

“If you couldn’t stop him” – Credence might as well have stuck a fishhook in Percival’s gut – “what am I supposed to do?”

“You’re a better wizard than I am.”

“No I’m not,” said Credence bitterly. “And I’m definitely not a better wizard then he is.”

“It would help a lot if you learned the Patronus.”

Credence yanked away from Percival. “I can’t!” he shouted, wriggling out of Percival’s grasp. “Can’t you see I’m trying? Maybe if you weren’t such a bad teacher, I wouldn’t be such a failure!”

Percival sat very still.

Credence exhaled very slowly. He got up and began to pace furiously across the little room. “When he gets here and kills me, it’ll be your fault,” he snapped. “Why didn’t they send a real teacher to cover for Ms. Mendez?”

Percival didn’t say anything. It was mortifying, but he thought that if he tried to talk he would probably cry. A voice in the back of his head said wryly, _No wonder Queenie’s been so depressed_.

Credence whirled on Percival. He seemed about to say something else, but then a change came over his face. Suddenly he was no longer furious; he looked stricken. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Wait, Mr. Graves, I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Percival heard himself say. He didn’t burst into tears, at least. “You’re allowed to mean it. It’s true.”

“No, it’s not. You’re a great teacher. All the first-years love you, and all the other students are jealous they don’t get to take DADA with you. The Horned Serpents are talking about starting a petition to bring you on full-time. Mr. Graves, it’s not your fault I can’t do a Patronus. Abassi and Mary Sue and Yuri can all do it, and they’re just kids. Doesn’t that mean you’re a good teacher, that you were able to teach little kids? It’s my fault, for not being a good enough wizard.” And then, to Percival’s horror, he began to cry. He sank to a crouch, folding in on himself like a praying mantis, and covered his face. When he spoke his voice was normal, but his body was wracked with sobs. “Please don’t be mad. Please don’t kick me out. I don’t know what to do.”

“Credence.”

“I can’t do it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been trying so hard.” A silent sob. “And you’ve been so nice to me, trying to make me happy just so I can work the spell, I don’t know why it’s not working, I don’t know what’s wrong with me –”

“Credence!”

Credence, startled, looked up. The skin around his eyes was streaked with red. Percival leaned forward, looked at him intently. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re a young adult who’s spent his entire life being trained to hate magic and happiness both. You’re trying to overcome eighteen years of conditioning. Give yourself a break.”

Credence looked blank, then covered his face again.

“Tell you what,” Percival said. He still felt like he’d been hollowed out, but he wasn’t about to punish poor Credence for it. Credence was suffering enough. “Forget the Patronus. Okay? Just for tonight. You can come tomorrow to make it up, if you like.”

Credence sniffed disbelievingly. “How can you even want to talk to me?”

Percival thought of Queenie, who’d probably taken a thousand of these beatings from the kid and would still throw herself in front of a bus for him. “Credence,” he said, “we love you.”

Credence scoffed into his hands.

With his heart in his throat, Percival said, “I mean it.”

Credence lowered his hands and looked at Percival, first doubtfully, then with mild surprise, and finally with something like pleased embarrassment. He said, “I don’t know why.”

“Me neither,” Percival said. “Not after that outburst.”

Credence was still looking at Percival. A hot flush was rising on his cheekbones. Percival wanted to put his mouth on it.

“Forget the Patronus,” he said again. “You’re not in any position to practice now, anyway. Tonight we’re going to do whatever you want, whatever might help you feel better. Whether that’s visiting the kitchens, or walking to Harrisburg, or sitting on the roof, or even if you just want to go back to your room and not have to look at me anymore. Anything you want. Okay?”

Credence licked his lips. “Anything?”

“Anything. What do you have in mind?”

There was a pause. Then Credence, still crouched on the ground a few feet away, began to crawl towards him. Percival’s stomach went hot. Credence reached him, put his hands on Percival’s knees, and used the leverage to pull himself up until his face was level with Percival’s stomach. He reached for Percival’s collar.

“Uh,” said Percival, in a voice barely above a whisper. “So, when I said ‘anything’ –”

Credence’s hands fastened around the throat of Percival’s shirt, and he tugged Percival’s face down to his. Percival couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but open his mouth and slide his hands around Credence’s wrists.

Then, only a torturous two inches away, Credence stopped.

They stayed frozen like that for several seconds. Percival was afraid to move. Credence stared at him with his black eyes wide, full of his signature half-defiant, half-afraid expression. He started to shake. At first Percival thought it was nerves, and then he realized it was Credence’s legs, trying to bear all his weight in this precarious position. Unconsciously Percival moved half an inch closer, trying to support him, and then Credence climbed all the way up and kissed Percival’s mouth.

And Percival, Merlin help him, kissed him back.

Credence slid into Percival’s lap and tangled around him the way he had when Percival had caught him outside the South Tower. Percival pushed his hands up under Credence’s white shirt, and Credence made a sound Percival had never heard a human being make. He slotted his fingers around Credence’s shoulder blades. Credence shuddered and went slack. Percival, fascinated and brain-fogged, ran his palms up to Credence’s neck and shoulders, down to the small of his back, around to his stomach and hip-joints, while Credence, apparently unable at this point even to kiss Percival properly, melted against Percival’s chest and panted into his neck. It was only when Percival caught himself actually removing Credence’s shirt that he came to his senses.

With extraordinary effort he extricated himself. “Okay,” he said. The word came out garbled. “Okay, uh, wait, let’s talk about this.”

“I don’t want to,” Credence said breathlessly. He wormed the rest of the way out of his shirt.

“Uh,” Percival said. “Wow, okay, come here. No, don’t. You’re practically a minor. My student. Hey, cut that out.” Credence had gone to work on Percival’s shirt as well. Percival flapped a feeble hand, which had absolutely no effect whatsoever. “We, uh, I’m gonna get fired. Oh, um. Um.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” said Credence, pausing in the process of mouthing a path along Percival’s jugular. “Isn’t your contract up in a month anyway?”

“Yes, but that’s not... there are repercussions. I’m a grown-up with a job. I can’t go around... go around...” Percival couldn’t remember what it was that he couldn’t go around doing, but he was pretty sure Credence was currently doing it.

“You said we could do whatever I wanted.” Credence sat up and away from Percival. Percival, despite himself, reached for him, but Credence tilted away. His formerly slackjawed face had taken on a new tint, wary and a little alarmed. “Unless... unless you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” said Percival, unable to lie even to save himself. “It’s just...”

Credence waited. “Just what?”

_He’s old enough to kiss someone he likes._

And Grindelwald was coming.

Percival said, “Nothing, I guess.”

“Well, then,” said Credence with great satisfaction, and he lay back on Percival’s bed.

* * *

Two hours later found them curled around each other in Percival’s little school-issued bed. Credence was mostly asleep, but Percival was wide awake. He couldn’t stop marveling over the slickness of Credence’s skin, the rich saltiness of the sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat. Now that he’d succumbed to Credence, he felt energized and almost panicked, like he had to touch him everywhere or else he’d disappear. Credence evidently felt no such urgency; he was soft and pliant, flushed from face to chest, quiet but for a series of satisfied little sounds.

Percival, trying to calm down, pressed his face into Credence’s ribcage and took a deep breath.

Credence moved. Percival lifted his head and saw Credence, still relaxed with his eyes closed, fumbling with something on the bedside table. Eventually his fingers closed around it. He lifted it, and Percival glimpsed it in the shaft of bluish moonlight that streaked through the window: it was Percival’s wand.

Half-asleep, Credence mumbled, “Expecto Patronum.”

A blinding silver flash erupted from the wand. Percival gasped. He sat all the way up, squinting through the blaze, and watched as the light resolved itself into a large, sleek animal, a big muscular cat with rounded ears and a wide, bearlike face. The cat padded to the bedside and watched Percival, impassive.

“It’s a jaguar,” Percival said, amazed.

“Hmm?”

“A predatory jungle cat.” The jaguar blinked once, slowly, and began to evaporate. Percival looked at Credence, to see how he was taking it, but Credence hadn’t even opened his eyes to look at his Patronus. His lips were parted, he had threaded his fingers through Percival’s, and his breathing was deep and even.

Percival’s heart was so full it almost made him sick. He tried to fall asleep, and when he couldn’t, he watched Credence sleep until dawn broke.

* * *

In the morning he sent Credence to Queenie’s, not sure what else to do with him. Percival was sure Queenie would have extensive opinions on what Percival had done, but he thought he could trust her not to rat him out. She came to him after breakfast.

“Credence seems happy,” she said, grinning.

Percival shifted. “You... won’t tell Meenie, will you?”

“What kind of monster do you think I am?” Then she kissed his cheek and added, “You’re old enough to kiss someone you like, too, you know.”

The tightness in Percival’s chest eased. He kissed Queenie’s cheek back. Her smile broadened, and they left the dining hall together.

He saw her once that day in the hallway, scurrying after Credence, and once at lunch and once at dinner. Each time she was buoyant, and she and Credence were downright amicable with each other. After dinner the three of them retired to Queenie’s room and laughed and chatted and ate cinnamon rolls, and Percival went to bed feeling lighter than he had in months. Maybe years. Maybe ever.

Which was probably the reason why, when Queenie shook him awake in the middle of the night, he sat up leisurely and stretched before asking what was wrong.

“Grindelwald,” said Queenie. Her white face was devoid of makeup. She wrung her trembling hands. “He’s here.”


	11. Chapter 11

Percival’s heart dropped like a stone. “On his way?”

“No, _here_. In the castle. Ida saw him. She woke up Meenie, who woke up the faculty. Henry came and fetched me and told me to tell you to patrol the entrance hall. I have to go to Credence.” She was already backing out of the room.

Percival grabbed his bathrobe and wand and ran after her without even putting on shoes. “You didn’t sense him coming?”

“He must be using Occlumency. I can’t even sense him in the castle.” Queenie fled toward Wampus Tower, leaving him behind.

“Wait,” Percival yelled. “Am I supposed to guard the hall by _myself_?”

“You’re the Director of Magical Security!” Queenie shouted over her shoulder.

“ _Queenie_!”

No use. She was gone.

Percival’s feet began to carry him back to his room. He wasn’t about to face Grindelwald alone, no way, no how. Then he thought of Credence. Not just Credence, either: Abassi, Yuri, Michael, Nancy, Mary Sue.

 _Grindelwald doesn’t care that they’re children_ , he’d told Queenie once.

Percival bit the inside of his cheek. He whimpered aloud, humiliatingly. Then he tightened his grip on his wand and strode down the corridor, his bathrobe swirling around his heels.

* * *

By the time he reached the entrance hall, he’d worked himself up into quite a state.

The hall was empty. Which was a tremendous relief, and also a bit of an anticlimax.

Percival asked Ida what, exactly, she’d seen. He expected to have to interrogate her, but she was quite sober. She said a tall, gaunt man with spiky whitish hair and hollow eyes had marched through the front doors thirty-five minutes ago, bold as you please. The man had been quiet, but Ida prided herself on her alertness and keen eye, and she’d woken up anyway. She hadn’t shouted after him, knowing it would be useless. Instead she’d dashed through the artwork to Meenie’s office, where she’d bullied the doorkeeper into informing Meenie. Now Kit, Henry, Aphrodite, and Emily were patrolling a dormitory tower each, and the rest of the faculty and staff, not to mention Meenie herself, the paintings, and some intrepid house-elves, were hunting for Grindelwald throughout the castle.

After her story, Percival actually felt a little better. “With all of us after him, he can’t stay hidden long.”

“Don’t be so sure,” said Ida. “We know he’s a master of human transfiguration” – she looked at Percival severely, as though it were his fault – “and I imagine he’s capable of a standard invisibility spell. Besides, the castle’s huge. Even I don’t know where all the hidden passages are.”

“I never thought of you as the giving-up type, Ida.”

Ida glared daggers at him. “I’m not, you hopeless jackass. I’m not the underestimate-my-enemies type, either.”

This was absurd. Percival was wasting his time in an empty hallway, fighting with a painting. He should be protecting Grindelwald’s target in Wampus Tower. He jogged back to the main hall, ignoring Ida’s shouts.

He considered taking the circuitous route to Wampus Tower, which was housed in Ilvermorny’s west wing, in order to avoid Henry, who according to Ida was patrolling there. He could go up to the third floor, where there were unlikely to be any people, down the hall, left then right at the armless Founding Father statues.... No, there was no time. Screw Henry.

He ran directly to the tower. Sure enough Henry was at the foot of the stairs. Henry looked downright haunted, but he greeted Percival civilly enough. “Hello, Graves. Did Queenie Goldstein tell you the news? I guess not, or you’d be in the entrance hall. Listen... I wish Queenie were here to say this, but...”

Percival ducked past him and ran up the stairs.

“Hey!”

“He wants Credence,” Percival shouted. “He’s coming here, not to the entrance hall. He wants Credence, he’s always wanted Credence, he –”

He rounded a curve of the spiral staircase and collided skull-first with Queenie. They both went sprawling down the stairs. At the bottom they bowled into Henry and knocked him down too.

“I don’t know what you’re on about, but Credence Barebone already has a guardian,” Henry spluttered at Percival, trying furiously to disentangle his shoelaces from Percival’s bathrobe belt. “There are a thousand children in this school who don’t, so if you would please get your ass to the entrance hall –”

“Credence is gone,” Queenie gasped.

Henry paused, scowling. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“He’s not in his bed. He’s not in the bathroom. I woke up all the other kids, and they don’t know where he is either, and they’re – they’re not lucid, I think he cast Obliviate or something.” She wasn’t talking to Henry, though. She was talking to Percival. Pleading with him. “Where would Grindelwald have taken him? Or do you think Credence could have left on his own? Maybe he went to your room, or mine?”

“Why would Credence have gone to Graves’s room in the middle of the night?” Henry said.

“I’ve been teaching him the Patronus,” Percival retorted, “for just such an occasion as this.”

“There’s nowhere Grindelwald could have taken him that’s not already being patrolled,” Henry said. Then he paused and added, “Except, of course, for the _front fucking door_.”

Queenie and Percival looked at each other. As one they leapt up and careened toward the entrance hall. Percival was fast, but Queenie, who had had the foresight to put on shoes, was faster. She reached the door to the entrance hall before he did, and when Percival saw her tugging on the heavy handles, his heart sank: he’d left it open.

He caught up to her, yanked on the doors himself and nearly dislocated his shoulder. Together he and Queenie tried a number of charms, but it was no use. After thirty seconds of this Queenie was fully in tears.

“We need another way in,” Percival said in frustration, and then: “The balcony!”

Queenie took off like a shot. This time Percival managed to stay nearly at her heels. They reached the second floor at the same time and ran together to the balcony, Percival huffing and puffing after the stairs. At the balcony they stopped. They had to. There was a great magical barrier, translucent and shimmering like a cascade of black glitter, above the balcony railing. It stood between Percival and Queenie and the expanse of the main hall.

“No,” Queenie whispered. She shoved the barrier, but it was no use. Percival didn’t even bother to touch it. He stood beside Queenie with his wand out, watching the scene below with dread.

Credence was curled fetus-like in the middle of the seal. Crouched over him was Grindelwald. Through the shimmering black barrier Grindelwald’s bone-white skin appeared ghostly, his form menacing. Yet something about him was almost shockingly human. In Percival’s memories Grindelwald did not seem human – he was more like a devil wearing human skin – and the cognitive dissonance, paired with the danger to Credence, turned Percival’s intestines to concrete.

“He’s talking,” Queenie whispered. Percival could see Grindelwald’s lips moving, and at first he thought that was what Queenie was referring to. Then he realized he could actually hear Grindelwald, though the barrier made his voice sound distant and distorted.

“Come, my boy,” Grindelwald was saying. “See reason. I’m offering you what you’ve always wanted. The two of us, joining forces against the cruel and unjust world. Hasn’t the world been cruel to you, Credence? Don’t you want to tear it down?”

Credence didn’t answer, and Percival couldn’t see his face. He began to walk slowly around the balcony, intending to glimpse Credence’s face and hopefully find a break in the barrier, although he doubted Grindelwald would be so sloppy. He couldn’t fathom how Grindelwald had gotten Credence here conscious, and why Grindelwald was just letting Credence lie there, why he wasn’t forcing him out of the castle the way he’d forced Percival into captivity.

“Credence.” Grindelwald had lowered his voice. “I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

Percival could have killed him. Across the hall Queenie hurled herself against the barrier.

“I know I hurt you,” Grindelwald murmured. “But I had to teach you to unleash your power. And it’s better now, having the strength that’s so rightly yours. Isn’t it?”

A little shudder ran through Credence, but he still didn’t lift his head.

“I did it for your own good, Credence. I would never have hurt you otherwise. You know I wouldn’t. Don’t you remember all the things I said?”

“You lied,” Credence answered, his voice muffled. Percival’s heart leaped. He’d been starting to think Credence might be unconscious, or dead. “You were a liar.”

“I didn’t lie to you. I tried to save you. It was the Ministry who lied, Credence, and the Ministry who hurt you. Didn’t the Ministry try to kill you in the subway that day? The Ministry, with your beloved Tina Goldstein, your beloved Percival Graves?”

Credence sat bolt upright. “Don’t you dare mention Mr. Graves!”

“I know more about Percival Graves than you ever will,” said Grindelwald, the honey in his voice turning to acid. “He is not your friend, Credence. Besides, he is weak. If he were a true wizard and a true friend, he would be here now. He is not. I am. I came for you, not him.”

At which point Percival banged on the barrier and bellowed Credence’s name.

Both Credence and Grindelwald swiveled to face him. Credence’s face lit up.

Percival looked into Grindelwald’s eyes for the first time as a free man. They were as canny and cruel as he remembered, but Percival did not step back.

“Hm,” Grindelwald said. “It would appear I am mistaken. He did, in fact, come for you, too late to be of any use, and too feeble to so much as fracture my barrier. An excellent friend and an excellent wizard indeed. What fine taste you have.” He returned his attention to Credence, but Credence continued to watch Percival.

“Credence,” Grindelwald said. “Look at me.”

“No,” said Credence. “Let me out. I want to go to Mr. Graves.”

“Credence” – now the acid in Grindelwald’s voice gave way to flint – “I have been kind and generous with you, but if you will not consent to join me, then I shall have to _make_ you join me. And I warn you, I shall enjoy it.”

“You can’t make me do anything,” Credence said. “You couldn’t before and you can’t now.”

“Is that so.” Grindelwald pointed his wand at Credence. “Crucio.”

Credence’s whole body went rigid, like he’d been electrocuted. His face turned white.

Queenie screamed. Grindelwald grinned, and the concrete in Percival’s stomach turned to hot slush. He knew that grin. It had leered at him out of the dark innumerable times, woken him from sweat-drenched nightmares. Queenie stopped hitting the barrier and ran to Percival, still screaming. “Stop him!” she bellowed. “STOP HIM!”

“I can’t,” Percival said numbly.

Credence screwed his eyes shut. Percival wished he’d Crucio’d Credence weeks ago, when Credence had asked him to. Maybe then Credence would have been prepared. Maybe then, this wouldn’t be so awful.

But Credence was relaxing, slowly but surely, even though Grindelwald was still casting the spell. After a minute or so, the blood began to creep back into Credence’s face. He opened his eyes and looked at Percival. Percival thought he might be smiling.

 _Cut that out_ , he thought, despite his relief. _You’ll just piss him off._

A flash of fury crossed Grindelwald’s face. Then he started smiling, too, which was worse. “You are powerful, Credence,” he said. “It’s good to know I’ve chosen well. But I _can_ make you. Imperio.”

Queenie clung to Percival, but Percival was almost glad. He knew from experience that Grindelwald’s Imperius was hardly his strongest spell, and he also knew that Credence had a very strong grasp on his own self. Sure enough, a few seconds later Grindelwald stumbled away from Credence as though he’d been shoved.

Credence, obviously acting under his own volition, took advantage of Grindelwald’s imbalance and lunged. He grabbed Grindelwald’s wand. Grindelwald, who for all his magic was unused to actual physical violence, stumbled again. Credence jammed his hip into Grindelwald’s stomach for leverage and slammed his foot down on Grindelwald’s ankle. A loud crack rang through the air. Grindelwald cried out – actually cried! – and collapsed. Credence wrested the wand away and ran to the doors.

But he couldn’t open them. Grindelwald must have cursed them shut. So Credence put his back to them and pointed the wand at Grindelwald.

“You think you’re so smart,” Grindelwald spat. He staggered to his feet and strode forward. Despite a heavy limp, his movements were brisk and powerful, but there was something odd about them: a sort of stiff, aggressive jerkiness Percival had never seen him exhibit. His voice was pitched up, too. The whole effect was absurd, but strangely chilling. “You think you’re a talented wizard now, don’t you? Just because some hopeless witch managed to drill a couple of basic jinxes into your head, and a moronic wizard who couldn’t even keep himself safe taught you some level one defense. Face it, Credence: the people who run this pathetic excuse for a school couldn’t even lock their own front doors properly, and you can’t even keep up with _them_.”

A horrible thought flashed into Percival’s head: _I hope Credence kills him._

But Credence looked quite far from killing anybody. In fact he didn’t even look like the same person who’d stolen Grindelwald’s wand thirty seconds ago. He was shrinking against the doors, and he looked about two minutes from curling up on the ground again. Percival pounded on the barrier, to no effect.

“Oh, no,” Queenie said.

“I don’t understand,” Percival said. It was anguish-inducing, watching Grindelwald get closer and closer to Credence while Credence stood there with the wand and did nothing. “Why doesn’t he cast Cruciatus? I know he can.”

Queenie answered, “He’s talking like Credence’s mother.”

“You should be ashamed,” Grindelwald went on. “An eighteen-year-old man, the so-called best wizard of the age, stuck in a class with a bunch of untested eleven-year-olds. I expect you’re the worst of the bunch.”

“I’m good at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Credence said, barely audible.

“Ah, yes, taught by a man who couldn’t even defend himself against the Dark Arts. And how much actual magic do you do in that class? Hm? Or is it all meditation and party tricks?”

Credence didn’t answer.

“I admit you have some power,” Grindelwald allowed, “but you’ve no skill. As a consequence, all your power is useless. _You’re_ useless. You’re worthless, Credence. You always have been. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

Credence didn’t say anything. He’d slumped against the door, lowered Grindelwald’s wand, closed his eyes.

“But join me,” Grindelwald said, lowering his voice – he was horribly close to Credence now, close enough to touch him – “and you’ll have a chance. A hope, however slim. I might be able to make something of you, my boy. Your power, combined with my talent, my skill –”

Credence, without straightening or opening his eyes, jammed the tip of the wand into Grindelwald’s stomach.

Grindelwald stopped.

“Expecto Patronum,” Credence said.

A silver blaze erupted, so dazzling Percival had to squint. It tore through the room like a hurricane, tearing down the black barrier. Queenie gasped. The Patronus swept up to the balcony, where it coalesced into Credence’s jaguar; it stood before them, massive as a bear and just as solid, and lowered itself to its knees. Percival understood instantly. He heaved Queenie onto the jaguar’s back and mounted behind her. The Patronus leapt down to the main level, deposited Percival and Queenie, charged back to Credence, and positioned itself between Credence and Grindelwald, where it snarled with its hackles raised.

But the Patronus had had no effect on Grindelwald himself. He was, after all, only human. He backed away from it, away from Credence, and turned from its brilliance. His eyes alighted on Percival. Immediately his weird Mary Lou Barebone posture fell away, and he was Grindelwald again. Percival’s spine stiffened in fear.

But Percival had a wand. Grindelwald did not.

“Oh, don’t bother,” Grindelwald snorted, as Percival, with a quivering hand, pointed his wand at Grindelwald’s chest. He started to limp toward Percival. To his horror Percival found himself backing away. Behind Grindelwald the blinding Patronus-shape was fading. “You were never a match for me, and you know it. But I’ll tell you what.” Grindelwald licked his lips. “Shut the doors, replace my barrier, and I’ll consider sparing your pretty assistant.”

“You’re not in a position to make threats,” Percival said shakily. Queenie was no longer beside him. Where was she? Probably comforting Credence, although Percival couldn’t see past Grindelwald, not with the Patronus haze filling that side of the room. “You’re wandless. Plus your leg is broken.”

“When it comes to you, Mr. Graves, I am always in a position to make threats.”

At which point Credence bellowed, “ _CRUCIO_!”

And Grindelwald started to scream.

Credence and Queenie strode out of the silver fog, Credence pointing Grindelwald’s wand like a sword, Queenie with her pretty face twisted into a rictus of hatred. She caught up to Grindelwald and reached out to slap him, but Grindelwald, still roaring, grabbed her arm. Then her throat.

“Queenie!” Percival yelled.

“Stop the spell,” Grindelwald gritted out.

Credence didn’t. Grindelwald tightened his grip.

“Stop it!” Percival cried.

Credence hesitated. But his temporary break in concentration was enough. Grindelwald grinned and straightened. Percival could all but see the pain melting from his body. “Now –”

Queenie grabbed Grindelwald’s wrist, twisted, and flipped him over her shoulder.

It was a maneuver Percival recognized, because he’d taught it to her just a few weeks ago. She’d demonstrated it on him in front of a classroom of small children. Her form, though, had been better then, thank Merlin. Percival had landed on his back. Grindelwald, with a sickening thud, landed on the crown of his head. His neck crumpled.

Queenie released him – practically threw him, in fact – and ran back to Credence.

For a minute they were all quiet.

“Crucio,” Credence said again, hopefully, but Grindelwald didn’t move. After another pause, Queenie padded over and prodded him with her shoe.

Percival said disbelievingly, “Did you kill him?”

“I don’t think so,” said Queenie, not with any degree of certainty. “I can’t have.”

“Queenie, did you _kill Gellert Grindelwald_?”

“She didn’t,” said Credence. “There’s a big old vein going in his neck.” He thought about it for a moment, then added, “I’ve never practiced Avada Kedavra, obviously, but –”

“ _No_ ,” Queenie said, sounding very much like her old self.

Percival dared to approach. Grindelwald lay folded on the ground, his foot twisted at an ugly angle, his white skin even paler than usual. He was breathing, but shallowly. “We should tie him up or something,” Percival said, at a loss. Queenie began to perform an Incarcerous Charm. Her knots were sloppy, not like the neat square knots that resulted when Percival performed such a charm, but manageable.

The double doors flew open, and in stormed Henry and Meenie.

“You’re a little late,” Percival said.

“None of your cheek,” Meenie snapped. “Mr. Little tells me you were not at your post tonight, which means this mess is your responsibility. I suggest you explain yourself now, and you, young man, get yourself back to bed this instant before I write your guardians and...” Her gaze landed on Grindelwald. She trailed off.

Percival couldn’t explain himself, any more than Credence seemed to be able to get himself to bed. They stood dumbly side-by-side while Queenie finished her Incarcerous, while Henry and Meenie gawked and seethed. Finally Queenie slid her wand into her pocket, dusted herself off, and turned to Meenie with a bright smile. “Of course Percy will tell you what happened,” she said. “First, though, I think it’s best – for the safety of the children – to contact Congress and send Mr. Grindelwald back into custody. I’m sure Percy would be happy to explain everything to you and the President at the same time. Besides, that will give you an excellent opportunity to tell the President what went wrong with your defenses.”

“She sounds like Tina,” Credence whispered.

Meenie was as unfazed as ever, however. She harrumphed. “Oh, very well. We’ll retire to my office, then. Levicorpus.” Grindelwald’s limp body rose into the air and trailed after Meenie as she proceeded with Queenie to the stairs.

“Can I come?” Credence asked.

“No! _Bed_!”


	12. Epilogue

Once in Meenie’s office, Meenie shoved Grindelwald into her filing cabinet and called Picquery. Stanley Chip answered, of course, because the rest of Congress was still on lockdown. When Meenie showed him a visual of Grindelwald, though, he promised to do his best to release a retrieval team.

The release paperwork took two weeks. Grindelwald spent the entirety of that time bound and gagged in the cabinet.

Percival, by some combination of Queenie’s wheedling, a divine miracle, and the fact that there were only five weeks left in the semester, managed not to get fired. He continued teaching through the end of the semester, although he canceled Credence’s tutoring sessions. The Horned Serpent first-years did put together a petition to get his contract renewed, which Percival found touching, but Meenie ignored the petition and he wouldn’t have accepted a full-time position anyway, because he was going back to Magical Security. After Picquery heard about the Grindelwald debacle and how Percival and Queenie had handled it, she offered Queenie a spot in Interrogation, and she offered Percival his old job back. While he administered his finals and bade farewell to the children (Mary Sue and Michael both cried), Tina and this Newt Scamander fellow went apartment hunting on his behalf. By December they had gotten him a medium-sized one-bedroom overlooking Central Park. Christmas Eve found him in the Goldsteins’ quaint dormitory (though he’d had to enter through the window), in the company of Newt Scamander, a portly No-Maj baker, and, delightfully, Credence.

“So what happened?” Tina asked Credence anxiously. She was clearing away the dinner dishes while Queenie served hot cocoa. Percival was sitting in an armchair with its back to the wall; Credence was beside him, cross-legged on the carpet before the fireplace; Queenie’s baker was near the window, and Newt was bustling around the kitchen, trying to help Tina and dropping things all over the place. Over dinner, Tina and Newt had shared their side of the story, which more or less matched up with what Queenie and the papers had said. Grindelwald’s cell had been found empty and his four guards dead by their replacements. Immediately the whole building had been shut down with everyone in it. Since the changing of the guard had happened at three o’clock in the afternoon, that included just about everybody. People like Picquery and Tina, who’d been known to have contact with Grindelwald, were under extra scrutiny. Newt had sent his Demiguise into the Woolworth Building to scope out the situation, and Tina had sent a message back with it. She’d been stuck in lockdown for weeks, but by her own account it hadn’t been that bad, except for the interrogation. Now, having told her story, she was eager to hear Credence’s.

“Leave him alone,” Percival said, not unkindly. He remembered what it had been like after Tina had released him from Grindelwald’s clutches. She and the rest of Congress had wanted to know _everything_ , and all Percival had wanted to do was crawl into his own bed and cover his head with blankets. “Let the boy drink his cocoa. We already told you everything.”

“You did not! I want to know how Grindelwald got Credence out of bed and halfway out the door without anybody noticing! I want to know why Credence didn’t have his wand! I want to know –”

“He put me in a full body-bind while I was still asleep, and he levicorpused me downstairs,” Credence said. “He enchanted the other students so they wouldn’t notice. And he used side passages on his way to the entrance hall, ones that didn’t have any artwork and weren’t being patrolled. It wasn’t very difficult, I don’t think.”

“What _I_ don’t understand,” said Newt, as though it did not make much difference one way or the other, “is why, after all that, he stopped in the middle of the entrance hall to have a conversation with you. He was almost out of the castle by then. Why not just carry on until he could Apparate to a safe location?”

“I guess because I woke up,” Credence said. “I think when I woke up, it broke the body-bind spell.”

“I don’t see what that’s got to do with it,” Tina said tartly. “I’ve petrificused lots of people who were awake. The spell holds for hours.” Everyone looked at her. “What? It’s useful!”

Credence looked at a loss. “I don’t know, then. I woke up when he was sealing the entrance hall doors behind us, and I did what Mr. Graves had taught me – about, you know, taking control over your body and driving out strange magic – and a few minutes later I could move again. And then he started... talking to me.”

“And then Percy and I arrived to save the day,” Queenie said brightly. “So you see, Teenie, there’s nothing at all to worry about. Drink your cocoa.”

Tina grumbled. “I suppose that makes sense. It’s true that Grindelwald is a very erratic wizard. Interrogation turned up that much. Lots of power, poor focus. Percy, didn’t you say he couldn’t maintain an Imperius for more than a couple of minutes?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Percival said.

“An Imperius is hardly a full body-bind, though,” said Newt earnestly. “The theory is quite similar, but the practice, as well as the fact that an Imperius requires the addition of malicious intent –”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

They went on talking about it, until Credence said quietly, “I don’t want to talk about it either.” Then they shut up. Jacob, totally unaware of the tension – he’d listened to the whole conversation with open-mouthed delight and not an ounce of understanding – asked Credence blithely whether he was enjoying “magic school.”

“I think so,” said Credence. “I mean, yes.”

“What’s your favorite class?” Newt asked.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Tina snorted disapprovingly. “Of course it is.” Percival didn’t know what Queenie had told her about him and Credence, but he was sure she’d told her something. Or it might have just been the fact that Credence had come home with Percival for Christmas break and was currently living in Percival’s apartment.

“DADA was every first-year’s favorite class,” said Queenie. “The children loved Percy. Are you sure you don’t want to go back, Percy? I thought you liked it.”

“Yeah,” Credence said. He had tried hard to wheedle Percival into staying on at Ilvermorny. “I thought you liked it, Mr. Graves.”

“Don’t sulk,” Percival told him. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve served MACUSA my whole life –”

“Except for the past two years or so,” Newt corrected, oblivious.

“– and frankly I’m just happy to have everything getting back to normal.”

Queenie smiled. Tina and Newt parceled out slices of apple pie. Jacob beamed at everyone, and Credence leaned his head against Percival’s knee. What an odd Christmas, Percival thought idly. He’d never spent Christmas in an all-girls dormitory before, let alone with an ex-Obscurial, a Legilimens, a top magizoologist, a No-Maj, and his favorite employee. Perhaps normal was not quite the right word for it, but Percival found that he quite liked it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE!
> 
> Final thanks to everyone who stuck around for my erratic updates, and for all your lovely comments and kudos! And extra, extra thanks to verticalized, who made this fic possible.

**Author's Note:**

> I am also on Tumblr as [yors-minroud](http://yors-minroud.tumblr.com). Come say hi!


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